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b. 



















THE LADY 
OF THE LANE 









fc 



/ 





She protested that it wasn’t fair to allow him to plant 

everything. 


THE LADY 
OF THE LANE 


BY 

FREDERICK ORIN BARTLETT 

u 


ILLUSTRATED BY E. C. CASWELL 



NEW YORK 
THE CENTURY CO, 
1912 



Copyright, 19 11, 1912, by 
The Century Co. 


Published , September , iqi2 


#7. 

£CI.A3aO(;51 


TO DANAH 

WHO IS THE DAUGHTER OF 
ISOBEL AND DAN 


% 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

I. Introducing Elizabeth 3 

II. The Lady of the Towers 19 

III. A Most Unusual Fairy Godmother . . 42 

IV. Marie Departs 56 

V. The House in the Lane 71 

VI. My Lady Cooks an Omelet 87 

VII. My Lady Receives 108 

VIII. My Lady Receives Again 128 

IX. An Invitation 151 

X. The Donnington Game 176 

XI. A Good-by Call 192 

XII. A New Friendship 207 

XIII. A Guest for Supper 226 

XIV. An Acquaintance Reappears .... 242 

XV. Roy’s Return 258 

XVI. Elizabeth Plays Miss Winthrop . . . 272 

XVII. An Old-fashioned Hallowe’en Party . 289 
XVIII. Elizabeth’s Dreams Come True . . . 315 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


She protested that it was n’t fair to allow 

him to plant everything Frontispiece 

PAGE 

Elizabeth shuddered without daring to look up . .27 

Mrs. Trumbull folded her hands and waited in 

silence 47 Z' 

“Here is the key to the house,” he said . . . .691/ 

The shavings blazed up, filled the room with smoke, 

and went out 83 

Elizabeth makes an omelet 95 

The visitors seated themselves upon the sofa . .117 

Elizabeth looked critically at the brown disks . . 145 

Roy made the rest of the furrows 165 ^ 

A nip-and-tuck battle was being urged on the dia- 
mond 183 v 

“Oh, nothing — only well, I suppose he can’t help 

pitying you.” 199 ^ 

Nance returned the balls within Elizabeth’s reach . 223 ^ 

Seizing his hand, Elizabeth drew him into the din- 
ing-room 239 k 

The Tennis Game 281 ^ 

The sport waxed merrier and merrier .... 313 ^ 
“Why, she is here ! ” he cried. “Dear little Lady of 

the Lane.” 333 ^ 






THE 

LADY OF THE LANE 



















THE 

LADY OF THE LANE 


i 

INTRODUCING ELIZABETH 

T HE grounds of the Bretton Coun- 
try Club had been turned over to 
the girls of Miss Grimshawe’s school one 
fair spring afternoon for their annual 
tennis tournament. The young ladies 
covering the velvet greensward around 
the clay courts looked like so many spring 
flowers. In snow white, in dainty pinks, 
and blues, and browns, they made a pic- 
ture at which the matrons looked on with 
nodding smiles of approval. As usual, 
the two Brookfield girls were quite the 
smartest, though to some the pert sauci- 
3 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

ness and self-consciousness with which 
they paraded their gowns, detracted 
somewhat from their appearance. 

“They seem a trifle too much like 
dressmakers’ models,” observed Mrs. 
Thornton to her friend Mrs. Oliver. 
“Compare them now with Elizabeth 
Churchill; isn’t she exquisite?” 

Mrs. Oliver glanced toward a group of 
girls to the left. Five of them were 
seated in a half-circle about a sixth, who 
appeared to be a few years their senior. 
The latter was dressed in a costume of 
hand-embroidered muslin of the finest 
texture and workmanship. Only the 
simplicity of its design prevented it from 
overdressing her fifteen years. Her 
brown hair was arranged as only the 
deft fingers of a French maid makes pos- 
sible, and was surmounted by a lingerie 
hat. Her fine skin was clear, if a trifle 
lacking in color. Her dark brows were 
prettily arched, while her nose and 
4 


INTRODUCING ELIZABETH 


mouth, though still undeveloped, sug- 
gested latent strength. 

“Exquisite ?” repeated Mrs. Oliver, 
thoughtfully; “yes, perhaps a trifle too 
exquisite.” 

“That would be true of almost any 
other girl in such a costume,” answered 
Mrs. Thornton; “but Elizabeth wears her 
clothes ; she does n’t merely exhibit them.” 

“Does she do anything else?” ques- 
tioned Mrs. Oliver, looking at her friend 
with a smile. 

Mrs. Thornton considered a moment 
and then answered frankly: “I do not 
know.” 

She added after a second’s further 
thought : 

“Somehow, you don’t expect any more 
of her. If we were living in the days of 
old-fashioned princesses, I should expect 
her to be of the blood royal.” 

At that moment Roy Thornton, who, 
with some other young friends of the 
S 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

girls, had been invited to witness the 
tournament, came up to make sure that 
his mother was comfortable. He was a 
stalwart-looking fellow, with the color 
and bearing of an athlete. At the Bed- 
loe School, which, among the boys, 
ranked in popularity with Miss Grim- 
shawe’s school for girls, he was easily 
the star of the games. He was an all- 
round man, playing a good game of foot- 
ball, a better game of baseball, and even 
a fair game of tennis. While not heavy 
for his age, he was both quick and strong, 
and used his head quite as much as his 
body. 

“You want to watch this next set,” he 
informed his mother; “Nance Barton 
plays Miss Winthrop in the finals, 
Nance has been outplaying herself to- 
day.” 

Mrs. Thornton smiled at her son’s en- 
thusiasm. She knew he was rather fond 
of Nance. 


6 


INTRODUCING ELIZABETH 


“I hope Nance will win,” she declared. 

As she turned her eyes to the court to 
look at Nance, when the latter strode 
into position and tossed aside her white 
sweater, she again caught sight of Eliz- 
abeth. The latter was joining the gen- 
eral hand-clapping in, however, a rather 
perfunctory fashion. 

“Does n’t Elizabeth play tennis ?” she 
questioned her son. 

Roy followed his mother’s eyes to the 
dainty figure on the side-lines. 

“No,” he answered, “she does n’t. 
But I ’ll wager she could if she wished 
to.” 

“What makes you think that?” 

“I don’t know,” he answered frankly. 
“She does n’t seem to do anything, and 
yet she makes you feel all the time that, 
if she chose, she could star in everything. 
If she were a boy, I ’d make her come out 
and try for every team in spite of her- 
self.” 


7 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


“She seems to be popular,” commented 
Mrs. Oliver, turning her eyes toward the 
group. 

“And yet she is n't,” answered Roy, 
with a perplexed frown. “The younger 
girls hang around her, but Nance says 
the girls of her own class don't like her. 
The boys call her Lady Elizabeth, you 
know.” 

Just then Nance served the first ball, 
and this put an effectual end to the dis- 
cussion. Roy went off at once to watch 
the game, and, after a moment's hesita- 
tion, took a position near Elizabeth. 

Nance Barton was a brilliant but un- 
certain player. She was quick on her 
feet, nervous in her movements, and a 
trifle over-eager to make her points on 
single shots. Her antagonist, on the 
other hand, played a steady and consist- 
ent game, placing the ball with irritating 
deliberateness. She never made double 
faults, and attempted neither drives nor 
8 


INTRODUCING ELIZABETH 


kills. She won the first set, six — five, and 
went off the court in much better condi- 
tion than Nance. 

Roy turned impulsively to Elizabeth. 

“Some one ought to tell Nance to 
steady down,” he exclaimed. “She ’s not 
doing herself justice.” 

“I thought she played very well,” an- 
swered Elizabeth, indifferently. 

“She’s playing herself all to pieces,” 
answered Roy. “She won’t last through 
another set at this rate. I wish I could 
see her.” 

Both girls, however, had retired into 
the club-house to rest after their efforts, 
and were inaccessible. 

“Look here, Beth,” exclaimed Roy, 
“you can get at her. I ’d like to see her 
win because she ’s the better player. 
Why don’t you go and tell her to take her 
time in the next set?” 

Elizabeth settled back more comfort- 
ably in her chair. As a matter of fact, 
9 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


she and Nance were at present in the 
midst of one of those petty quarrels in 
which, with one girl or another, Eliza- 
beth was almost constantly involved. 
These sprang, almost invariably, not 
from anything she said or did, but from 
a certain patrician air of superiority, 
which, after all, Elizabeth assumed more 
for the spice of its effect than anything 
else. The romance of her nature found 
vent in assuming the air of the princess, 
but she acted the part so sincerely that 
this was often mistaken for sheer snob- 
bishness. She had given Nance the idea 
that she considered athletics for girls un- 
ladylike. 

“Do you think it is quite fair to coach 
from the side-lines ?” she asked Roy. 

“Coach them both !” answered Roy, 
quickly. “Tell Miss Winthrop not to be 
afraid to run up to the net. I want to 
see them both play their best.” 

Through half-closed eyes Elizabeth 
io 


INTRODUCING ELIZABETH 


glanced listlessly across the sun-beaten 
interval between her and the club-house. 

“It ’s so very warm !” she murmured. 

“Warm!” cried Roy, looking at her in 
astonishment. 

“And I don’t believe in giving advice 
to people,” she added. 

“But you want to see Nance win, don’t 
you? She’s in your class.” Roy was 
as outspoken as Elizabeth herself. He 
said frankly whatever he thought at the 
moment, a quality that Elizabeth hon- 
estly admired. 

“I don’t mind if she wins,” Elizabeth 
answered indifferently. 

“Then hurry up and tell her,” replied 
Roy, springing to his feet. “I know 
how it is when you get into a game. 
You forget that the end is going to count 
for more than the beginning.” 

Roy seemed to be so much in earnest 
that, to her own surprise, Elizabeth actu- 
ally arose and started toward the club- 
n 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

house. She took her time, however, and 
walked in so leisurely a fashion that Roy, 
by her side, urged her to hurry. 

“They 'll be out again in a minute," he 
pleaded. 

“I need n't hurry," she insisted stub- 
bornly. 

“You 'll be too late if you don't." 

“Then, very well — I shall be too late." 

She walked with the stately gait of a 
princess, and daintily picking up her 
skirts (which did not need picking up at 
all), she moved on into the club-house. 
At the door of the dressing-room, how- 
ever, she realized what she had under- 
taken to do. This meant not only the 
sacrifice of her pride, but it laid her open 
to a fine snub from Nance. For a mo- 
ment she hesitated, but only for a mo- 
ment. Roy was trusting her to deliver 
his message, and now that she had under- 
taken the mission, she would carry it 
through. In answer to her knock, she 


12 


INTRODUCING ELIZABETH 


was admitted just as Nance was ready to 
go out. The latter looked surprised at 
Elizabeth’s presence. Without explana- 
tion or apology, Elizabeth said to her: 

“Roy has been watching the game, and 
he wanted me to tell you that you ought 
to steady down.” 

“Thank you,” stammered Nance. “It 
— it was kind of you to come.” 

“Please don’t mention it,” replied Eliza- 
beth. 

“And you ’ll thank him and tell him I ’ll 
try ?” 

For a moment Elizabeth forgot her role 
of princess. 

“Try!” she exclaimed. “If I were you, 
I ’d win. You can do it.” 

For a second Nance seemed upon the 
point of impulsively taking Elizabeth’s 
hand, and there and then declaring a 
truce. But at this point, some imp of 
perverseness prompted Elizabeth to ob- 
serve languidly: 


13 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


"I ’m sure it won’t be so exhausting to 
watch you if you do steady down.” 

Nance, with flushed face, hurried off 
without another word. Elizabeth had 
just time to repeat to Miss Winthrop the 
rest of Roy’s message before the second 
set began. When she returned to her 
place, she found Roy in his old position, 
but her chair occupied by Helen Brook- 
field. The latter, in an attempt to make 
herself interesting, was asking of Roy 
one insipid question after another, but he 
was far too much interested in the game 
to give more than perfunctory answers. 
He saw with satisfaction that both girls 
were following his advice, and, in conse- 
quence, playing a much snappier game. 

Nance won the set by the score of six 
— three. 

The game stood five all in the third set, 
and the sixth went to Nance. But she 
was tired after this, and relaxed her ef- 
forts. In this mood she lost her spirit, 


INTRODUCING ELIZABETH 


and the seventh and eighth games went 
easily to her opponent. As Nance walked 
up to Miss Winthrop to congratulate her 
upon the victory, Elizabeth shook her 
head. 

“Nance ought not to have given in,” she 
exclaimed to herself. 

She strolled to the front of the club- 
house, where she again saw Roy, as he 
was assisting his mother into his car. 
He mechanically removed his cap, bowed, 
and then clambered into his seat without 
another look in her direction. Elizabeth 
drew back a little into the crowd now fast 
gathering before the door. Roy had just 
started his machine when a groom drove 
up with two prancing young horses. At 
the sound of the barking motor, Eliza- 
beth saw them rear, and then caught a 
glimpse of the earnest face of the young 
man in the rear seat of the trap. The 
next second she saw, almost in front of 
the horses, the group of young girls who 
15 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


had so lately surrounded her chair. With 
frightened screams they scrambled out of 
the way, but Louise, the youngest, tripped 
and fell. Roy had stopped and bolted to 
the ground, the young man back of the 
groom sprang out at the same instant and 
rushed forward to the side of Louise, and 
two or three others started for the horses’ 
heads. But Elizabeth was already there. 
She seized the nearer animal by the bit 
and held on with grim determination. 
The horse jerked up his head, bolted to 
the right and left, but Elizabeth did not 
let go. In another second Roy was by 
her side. Still Elizabeth, with white 
face, held on. 

“Beth,” cried Roy, fearing she would 
be trampled, “let go!” 

“Louise — ” gasped Elizabeth. 

But the young man who had borne 
Louise out of danger now came up. 
“She *s safe,” he said quietly. 

The horse gave another wild paw, and 
16 


INTRODUCING ELIZABETH 


this time caught his shoe in Elizabeth’s 
dress. Then she felt a hand close over 
hers, and found herself half carried back 
into the crowd. When she raised her 
eyes, the stranger was looking anxiously 
down at her. “I hope you aren’t hurt?” 
he asked. 

She did n’t know whether she was hurt 
or not, but she was decidedly uncomfort- 
able at the gaze of the crowd which, with 
excited queries, began to gather round 
her. 

“You will allow me to drive you to your 
home?” questioned the young stranger 
eagerly. 

But Roy pressed up. 

“My machine is ready,” he said with 
decision. “I ’ll have her home in ten min- 
utes.” 

Under his breath he whispered to Eliza- 
beth: 

“It was bully of you!” 

The praise brought back the color to 
2 1 7 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

her cheeks. She lowered her eyes, and 
as she did so caught sight of the rent in 
her dress. It was this which restored 
her self-possession. She drew herself up 
with an exaggerated haughtiness of man- 
ner. 

'Thank you both,” she said coldly, 
"but our man is waiting. Will you call 
him?” 

They both hurried off, and in a minute 
more returned with the machine. Then 
they assisted her to enter as all the girls 
and all the matrons looked on. 

"I hope I may call to inquire after you 
to-morrow,” said the stranger, deferen- 
tially. 

As she sped out of the gate, the excited 
hum of* the onlookers following her, 
Elizabeth found a bit of pasteboard in her 
hand and glanced down at it. It vouch- 
safed no further information than that 
the stranger’s name was — Mr. Reginald 
Crawford. 

18 


II 


THE LADY OF THE TOWERS 

T HE butler, who looked very much 
like the frog footman in “Alice in 
Wonderland,” a book which Elizabeth in 
her younger days had read and reread, 
came to the door of the big drawing-room. 
He sidled in, adjusted himself like a senti- 
nel, leveled his eyes respectfully a few 
inches above his mistress’s head, and 
made the announcement: 

“Mr. Churchill wishes to see you in the 
library, miss.” 

Elizabeth lazily smothered a yawn, 
turned her pretty blue eyes, and stared 
at the man indifferently. 

Martin repeated his announcement as 
mechanically as a phonograph: 

19 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


“Mr. Churchill wishes to see you in the 
library, miss.” 

Elizabeth sprang to her feet. 

“Ker-chug!” she exploded. 

The butler stared as though some one 
had prodded him from behind. He was 
not quite sure whether to interpret this 
very peculiar exclamation as a sneeze or 
a warning. However, he grimly deter- 
mined to do his duty. 

“Mr. Churchill — ” he began once more, 
as soon as he was able to compose him- 
self. 

“You look exactly like the bullfrog in 
'Alice/ ” Elizabeth interrupted him. 

Martin appeared relieved. After all, 
there was no harm in looking like a bull- 
frog. It was quite possible that, in his 
short trousers and white waistcoat, he did 
look like a bullfrog, but, as far as he knew, 
bullfrogs were honest beasts, or fishes, or 
whatever they might be, and so a man 
20 


THE LADY OF THE TOWERS 

need n’t take offense at such a compari- 
son. 

“Yes, miss,” he answered respectfully, 
and stood aside as Elizabeth lifted an im- 
aginary train and swept grandly out of 
the room. With her nose uptilted, she 
moved across the hall and knocked, not 
quite so grandly, at her father’s study 
door. In reply to his abrupt “Come in,” 
she dropped her hand, lowered her head 
to a more normal angle, and stole quietly 
to his side. 

Mr. Churchill was, as usual, bending 
over a heap of papers. His strained, 
wrinkled face looked more than ordinar- 
ily care-worn this evening. He motioned 
his daughter to a chair beside his table, 
and went on with his work. She had 
been ready to cuddle up to him, but a 
quick glance at his brow warned her to 
obey his unspoken command in silence. 

The curtains over the curved plate-glass 


21 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

windows were drawn aside so that she 
could see across the sweep of fields sur- 
rounding “The Towers” and all the way 
to the twinkling lights of the city, some 
three miles distant. In the foreground 
and within a hundred rods of where she 
sat, stood an untenanted farm-house. It 
afforded an odd contrast to the magnifi- 
cent Churchill residence. But because 
these acres surrounding it, and now lying 
in the path of the growing city, had 
formed the basis of his fortune, and be- 
cause into this farm-house Spencer 
Churchill had brought his bride twenty- 
five years ago, he had allowed it to remain 
undisturbed. Ten years later, when 
Elizabeth was born, the mother had died 
there, and further hallowed it. That he 
had preserved the old house was proof 
of more sentiment than he was usually 
credited with by his business associates. 
Men had come to look upon Mr. Churchill 
as a “human dynamo ” and even his 
22 


THE LADY OF THE TOWERS 


daughter could not help comparing him, 
at times, with the big touring-car which 
throbbed to the door every morning to 
carry her to school. 

In the quiet of the spring evening and 
beneath the white light of a full moon, 
the rambling story-and-a-half structure 
looked more like some ghostly illusion 
than a reality. It was painted white, and 
the green blinds, now faded to a robin’s- 
egg blue, took on a sort of phosphores- 
cent hue. A low shed connected it with 
a barn which for years had stabled noth- 
ing but shadows. 

Mr. Churchill finished his study of the 
legal-looking document in front of him, 
ran his finger through the clutter of other 
papers, and drew out a note so dainty that 
it seemed out of place there. He glanced 
up. 

“I received this communication to-day 
from Miss Grimshawe,” he informed his 
daughter. 


23 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


Elizabeth turned scarlet. The princi- 
pal, then, had at last carried out her oft- 
repeated threat. This had not occurred 
to the girl as even a possibility. Her ex- 
pression changed instantly to one of gen- 
uine concern. 

“Among other things,” he resumed, 
“Miss Grimshawe writes this: "While I 
find a great deal to commend in your 
daughter, she seems unwilling to exert 
herself in her studies. To speak very 
frankly, Elizabeth has shown herself so 
indolent and unruly, that I feel it would 
be not only lor her good, but for the good 
of the school, if she were withdrawn, at 
least temporarily/ ” 

He tossed aside the letter. 

“There is more,” he said, ""but those 
two sentences sum up the matter.” 

He turned his troubled eyes to the win- 
dow, and rested them on the old farm- 
house. He always took his troubles 
24 


THE LADY OF THE TOWERS 


there. Though to others this building, 
with its unlighted windows and its closed 
doors, stood only as a deserted house, to 
him it was still as fragrant with living 
memories as was the May garden with 
blossoms. 

He turned his eyes upon his daughter. 
She sat now with her hands clasped in her 
lap, her head thrown forward a little, just 
as her mother used to sit at the end of 
the day. He was half thinking aloud 
when he said gently: 

“I had hoped my girl was going to be 
like her mother.” 

Elizabeth shuddered without daring to 
look up. She had learned how deeply her 
father was moved whenever he referred 
to that past. Her firm mouth relaxed, 
and her throat ached with sobs forced 
back. To her this mother was only a 
shadowy figure growing out of her fa- 
ther’s memory, and yet, vague in outline 

25 


'THE LADY OF THE LANE 


though the figure was, it stood ever in 
the background of Elizabeth’s thoughts 
as something sacred. 

“Your mother had none of your advan- 
tages/’ continued Mr. Churchill. “When 
I brought her to the little farm, we did 
not have much money. At the begin- 
ning, she had time for little else besides 
the housework. She cooked and swept 
and sewed all day, so that at night she 
was often too tired for anything but 
sleep. You, on the other hand, have al- 
ways had servants, schools, horses, 
travel — ” 

He leaned toward Elizabeth as though, 
in one searching glance, he would dis- 
cover the difference between his daughter 
and his wife. He gave it up, and, with 
a frown, once more sought the solace of 
the old farm-house. For fully five min- 
utes he did not speak again. 

Then he brought his big hand down 
upon the arm of his chair. 

26 



Elizabeth shuddered without daring to look up. 





THE LADY OF THE TOWERS 


“I have it !” he exclaimed. 

Elizabeth shrank back in fright. Her 
father stepped quickly to her side. 

“Stand up, my girl,” he commanded. 

She obeyed, her blue eyes big and 
round. 

“Elizabeth,” he said, “I was wrong; it 
was your mother who had every advan- 
tage. It is you who have been handi- 
capped, not she. I see it now. You 
are laboring under the heavy burden 
of having too much. It is weakening 
you. You are not strong enough to bear 
it.” 

Elizabeth did not understand. That 
sounded like a topsy-turvy way of putting 
things. 

“I have neglected you,” he ran on; “I 
have deprived you of the great blessing 
of work. But it is n’t too late to remedy 
this. I will begin at once. You shall 
have every opportunity your mother had. 
You shall start where we started. You 
29 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


shall begin where we began — in the little 
house by the lane.” 

Elizabeth turned from him to stare 
again at the dim outlines of the old build- 
ings below the house. They looked so 
somber and ghostly that she caught her 
breath. 

“Npt — not there, Daddy !” she ex- 
claimed. 

“Yes,” he answered, “you must begin 
there. The house is just as it was when 
your mother came into it. I have kept 
it in repair, though, since we left it, no 
one has crossed the threshold but myself. 
You shall take up her life where she left 
off. You shall live her life until you 
grow strong as she was strong.” 

“You mean you want me to live there 
all the time?” she gasped. 

“Exactly. I will give you for house- 
hold expenses all I was able to give her 
when we started. Out of that your 
mother made a home. Out of that she 
30 


THE LADY OF THE TOWERS 


bought her clothes. You must do the 
same. I will give you a cow and some 
chickens, as we had. I will have a man 
do for you the work I myself did around 
the place for her. But you must make 
your own butter, if you have butter ; you 
must raise your own chickens, if you want 
to have eggs." 

“I?” she cried. “But I don’t know 
how to do any of those things, Daddy.” 

“No, you don’t. It ’s my fault that you 
don’t. But you are no older than your 
mother was when she learned. She was 
taught, and you shall be taught. I have 
an old friend who is still living in the 
country. I will have her come and live 
with you and teach you whatever you 
wish to learn. Teach you, mind, not 
work for you. You must provide for 
her, too, as your mother provided for 
me.” 

“But I may have Marie,” stammered 
the girl. “I may have Marie and — ” 

3i 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

“You will have no more Maries to 
dress you/’ answered her father, abruptly. 
“You will dress yourself in such clothes 
as you may make for yourself/’ 

Elizabeth stared blankly at her father. 
The scheme sounded so absurd and im- 
possible that she could n’t believe he was 
in earnest. She couldn’t even imagine 
getting along without Marie to do her 
hair and put on her things. And what 
would she do without Martin to open the 
doors and announce dinner for her ? And 
what would she do without the chef to 
cook the dinner? Or Lizette to serve it? 
She was half inclined to laugh. But 
when she looked up again into her fa- 
ther’s eyes she was checked. 

“You are coming with me?” she asked. 

He thought a moment. Then he shook 
his head. 

“Make a home such as your mother 
made,” he answered, “and then — and 
then I will join you.” 

32 


THE LADY OF THE TOWERS 

Elizabeth broke down. She sank into 
the chair, and began to sob. 

A light knock sounded upon the library 
door. In reply to Mr. Churchill’s an- 
swer; the butler stepped in, assumed his 
usual rigid pose, and made the announce- 
ment : 

“Dinner is served.” 

“Very well, Martin,” Mr. Churchill an- 
swered. 

He turned to his daughter and offered 
his arm, as was his cavalier-like custom. 

“Come,” he said, “you shall dine with 
-me until Mrs. Trumbull arrives.” 

Elizabeth rose, but, lowering her eyes, 
turned a little away from him. 

“You will excuse me, Daddy?” she 
begged. “I don’t feel at all hungry to- 
night.” 

“Then,” he decided, “you shall come 
and pour my coffee.” 

Mr. Churchill escorted Elizabeth to her 
place. As she seated herself, she caught 
33 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

the aroma of her favorite soup. Her fa- 
ther raised the cover of the tureen with 
the inquiry: 

“A little soup, Elizabeth?” 

It took courage on her part, but she an- 
swered firmly: 

“No, thank you, Daddy.” 

It seemed as though the chef had pre- 
pared that night every dish which he 
knew was sure to please her. Following 
the soup there was some deliciously pre- 
pared fish, the very sight of which made 
her swallow hard. At the broiled chicken 
which she saw next, her eyes grew blurry 
in sympathy with her own martyrdom. 
Then what should appear but some pates 
which she herself had asked the chef to 
make. But, though sorely tempted, she 
bravely shook her head when her father 
offered her one of the delicious titbits. 
She had the satisfaction of seeing him start 
at this, but the next second his eyes nar- 
34 


THE LADY OF THE TOWERS 


rowed in an uncomfortable way they had 
when he seemed to be reading her 
thoughts. She poured his coffee and 
watched him enjoy the pastry with a rel- 
ish quite unusual for him. With the re- 
mark that it was the best he had ever 
tasted, he helped himself to a second por- 
tion. This he munched with every possi- 
ble outward show of satisfaction consis- 
tent with good breeding. 

As they rose from the table, he neg- 
lected to inquire further into the state of 
her health, and, with a brief good-night 
kiss, left her and returned to his study. 
In the meantime, Lizette had carried word 
to the chef of the indisposition of her mis- 
tress. It was the butler who ventured 
to steal into the drawing-room where 
Elizabeth sat before the fire gazing mourn- 
fully into the flames. 

“I beg pardon, miss,” he inquired; “you 
are not feeling well?” 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


“No, Martin/’ she sighed. 

“We all has our ups and downs,” he 
returned philosophically. 

“There ’s nothing left for me but 
downs,” she answered. 

Running her hand over her forehead, 
she added resignedly: 

“However, I shan’t bother any one 
much longer.” 

“There, miss, I hopes you ’ll be quite 
yourself in the morning.” 

“In the morning?” 

She laughed harshly — forebodingly. 

“In the morning I may be dead. Will 
you call Marie?” 

Martin started. 

“At once, miss,” he said, eager to be of 
even this small service. 

Marie came in immediately. Eliza- 
beth leaned heavily upon her arm in going 
up the broad staircase to her chamber. 
But Marie, being more accustomed to 
such moods as these, appeared less wor- 
36 


THE LADY OF THE TOWERS 

ried than Martin. Furthermore, she 
held what she thought to be a ready solu- 
tion to the present caprice of her mis- 
tress. As soon as she had undressed 
Elizabeth and helped her into a kimono 
ready to have her hair brushed for the 
night, she whispered her secret: 

“Now, ma’nTselle, if you will excuse me 
for a moment — ” 

“Where are you going, Marie ?” in- 
quired Elizabeth, as the maid moved to- 
ward the door. 

“The chef has prepared a little tray,” 
announced Marie. 

Elizabeth hesitated. 

“A little pastry,” whispered Marie; “a 
bit of orange marmalade and a cup of 
chocolate.” 

Elizabeth swallowed hard. She was 
now genuinely hungry. In her mind’s 
eye she saw the dainty tray with its sweet 
burden of tarts and golden marmalade. 
Of all things, too, she loved steaming hot 
37 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


chocolate with foamy whipped cream 
upon it, as the chef always prepared it. 
The mere thought of this whetted her 
hunger to an acute pain. But a new 
question entered into the acceptance of 
these things. She had pretended to her 
father that she was not hungry. To eat 
now seemed underhanded. To eat slyly, 
after playing upon her father’s sympathy, 
was a deceit to which she would not stoop. 
She shook her head resolutely. 

“No,” she answered; “I will have noth- 
ing.” 

“But, ma’m’selle,” protested Marie, 
now genuinely worried, “you must not 
fast like this; you will surely be faint be- 
fore morning.” 

“Very well, then I shall be faint,” an- 
swered Elizabeth. 

In spite of Marie’s coaxing, Elizabeth 
held firmly to her resolution and bade the 
maid do her hair. 


38 


THE LADY OF THE TOWERS 

Elizabeth awoke the next morning with 
a good appetite. A warm morning 
breeze, fragrant with the perfume of the 
flowers over which it had blown, bulged 
in the white curtains at the windows. In 
front of her stood her pretty white bureau 
covered with her silver toilet articles; on 
the floor lay soft Persian rugs; on the 
wall hung the beautiful pictures which her 
father had bought on their trip abroad 
last summer; and, neatly arranged over 
a chair, was all her dainty apparel. It 
was impossible to believe that she would 
not always awake to find these things just 
as they were now. By the time Marie 
came in to dress her, she had convinced 
herself that her father had meant only to 
frighten her, though she knew such a 
thing to be against his whole nature. 

“How does ma’m’selle feel this morn- 
ing ?” inquired Marie, anxiously. 

“Much better, thank you,” answered 

39 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


Elizabeth, with a little more than her 
usual courtesy. 

“And ma’m’selle ’s hungry ?” 

Elizabeth frowned. This reminded 
her vividly of the incidents of the evening 
before. She was ravenous. It is a good 
deal harder to starve oneself when one is 
hungry, she thought, than it is when one 
has only an indifferent appetite. 

“The chef told me he had a little bird 
for ma’m’selle this morning,” coaxed 
Marie. 

Elizabeth turned away her head. 

“With a bit of jelly, and a cup of choco- 
late, continued Marie. 

Elizabeth felt her eyes grow moist. 

“Oh, Marie,” she finally choked. 

Marie could not understand. She fin- 
ished dressing the girl as quickly as possi- 
ble, so that she could send her down to 
her father. The latter was waiting for 
Elizabeth with his usual grave manner. 
He did not refer to the subject of last 
40 


THE LADY OF THE TOWERS 


night nor to her indisposition. In her 
relish for breakfast she herself almost for- 
got it. Mr. Churchill left the house early, 
still without making reference to any 
change, and his daughter went about her 
usual preparations for the day. 

At half-past eight Elizabeth stood by 
the door, dressed for school. Fifteen 
minutes passed, then a half-hour, but no 
motor came for her. 


4i 


Ill 


A MOST UNUSUAL FAIRY GODMOTHER 

T HAT was a terrible day. Elizabeth 
wandered about the house, living 
over her bad dreams of the night before, 
and with nothing to break the dull monot- 
ony until five o’clock that afternoon. It 
was then that Martin came to the draw- 
ing-room for the fiftieth time that day. 
But now he had a matter of some impor- 
tance to announce. 

“I beg pardon,” he murmured, as 
though he felt some apology were needed, 
“but there is an elderly party in the hall 
asking for Mr. Churchill.” 

“A gentleman, Martin?” 

“A woman,” answered Martin. 

“Her card?” inquired Elizabeth. 

42 


A FAIRY GODMOTHER 


“Her answer was, miss, that she did n’t 
play cards, and hoped that at her age she 
would n’t begin.” 

“Did she give her name?” asked Eliza- 
beth, breathlessly. 

“It sounded like Mrs. Thimble, miss,” 
answered Martin. 

Elizabeth’s first impulse was to retreat 
to her room. Feeling this woman to be 
part of a world-wide conspiracy to humili- 
ate her, she conceived an instant dislike 
of her. Mrs. Trumbull came as an in- 
truder. Even Martin saw this, although 
he knew nothing of the circumstances 
which brought her here. But second 
thought showed Elizabeth that her pride 
would only be further humbled by being 
forced to meet the stranger, as in the end 
she was sure to be, and that flight would 
be useless and cowardly. She might as 
well know the worst at once. And, 
finally, she was extremely curious to see 
just what Mrs. Trumbull was like, al- 
43 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

though she had already made up her mind 
that she was old, and dowdy, and disa- 
greeable. 

“You may show her in, Martin/’ Eliza- 
beth decided. 

Martin hesitated. He himself was 
convinced the lady was not quite right in 
her mind. 

“Mr. Churchill will soon be home, 
miss. Perhaps the party would wait in 
the hall until then,” he suggested. 

“Send her in,” sighed Elizabeth. 

A moment later, Martin reappeared. 

“Mrs. Thimble,” he murmured. 

The lady thus announced turned upon 
him with a look of withering scorn. 

“Thimble!” she exclaimed. “If I had 
one, I ’d snap your ears with it this very 
minute.” 

Martin withdrew hastily, as though 
afraid she might yet discover that article 
in the bag she carried in her hand, and 
fulfil her threat. 


44 


A FAIRY GODMOTHER 

Elizabeth found herself confronting a 
person wearing a black dress, a shawl, 
and an odd little bonnet perched upon the 
back of her head. Her face was lean, 
wrinkled, and sharp, but by no means un- 
pleasant. Her black eyes twinkled with 
good humor, and her snow-white hair 
was drawn back tightly into a snug pug 
knot. She watched the retreating figure 
of the butler out of sight, and then ex- 
ploded, more to herself than Elizabeth: 

“What Spence Churchill wants such a 
creature as that around his house for, is 
more than I can understand.” 

Elizabeth stepped forward haughtily. 

“This is Mrs. Trumbull?” she inquired. 

Mrs. Trumbull gave a sharp pirouette, 
stared a second at the girl, and then 
rushed forward with the evident inten- 
tion of throwing her arms about Eliza- 
beth’s neck. 

“Well, if this is n’t Beth, as I ’m a- 
livin’l” 


45 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


“I am Miss Churchill,” Elizabeth ac- 
knowledged icily. 

Mrs. Trumbull stopped short, and drew 
herself up until she looked as taut all over 
as did the white hair at her temples. Her 
shrewd eyes played over Elizabeth like 
tiny search-lights. Then folding her 
hands in front of her, she observed: 

“You don’t say.” 

“I suppose my father sent for you,” re- 
marked Elizabeth, not feeling at all com- 
fortable. 

“I don’t s’pose I ’d have got up at four 
in the morning and ridden all day if 
he hadn’t,” answered Mrs. Trumbull. 
“And I don’t s’pose I ’d do that for any 
man on earth except Spence Churchill,” 
she added. 

“Won’t you be seated?” said Elizabeth. 

Mrs. Trumbull sat down on the edge 
of a chair, her body making a right angle. 
She folded her hands, which were encased 
in black silk gloves, and waited in silence, 
46 


Mrs. Trumbull folded her hands and waited in silence. 



» 





A FAIRY GODMOTHER 


evidently determined to throw the burden 
of all further conversation upon Eliza- 
beth. The latter, feeling that she had 
failed in her first attempt to overawe her 
father’s guest, was at a loss to know what 
course to pursue next. She had an un- 
comfortable sense of not having shown 
herself to very good advantage. There 
was enough of quiet, motherly dignity 
about Mrs. Trumbull to make her 
ashamed of this. 

“1 think Father said that you and 
Mother were old friends,” remarked 
Elizabeth, in attempt to renew conversa- 
tion. 

Mrs. Trumbull’s set mouth relaxed at 
once. Her eyes grew suddenly tender. 

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I was ten 
years older than Mary. But we were 
girls together. And to think that you, 
her own daughter, never knew her.” 

She gave a swift look about the room, 

49 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


and then met Elizabeth's eyes with a 
queer, half-laughing scowl. 

“But, Lor’ sakes, I don't know 9 s your 
mother would know you livin’ in such a 
house as this." 

Elizabeth turned scarlet. 

“My mother should have lived in such 
a house," she retorted. 

“She deserved to, if that ’s what you 
mean," agreed Mrs. Trumbull; “but I 
dunno ’s she ’d ha' wanted to. She was 
happy enough in the old house." 

“I should think so!" exclaimed Eliza- 
beth, in sudden resentment; “scrubbing, 
and cooking, and making her own 
clothes !" 

“She was the best cook in town, and the 
best dressmaker, too." 

“It must have been very hard for her 
to have to do such things." 

“I dunno," answered Mrs. Trumbull, 
looking at the girl with growing curios- 
ity; “I never heard her say so." 

SO 


A FAIRY GODMOTHER 


“Why, she did n't even have a maid to 
do her hair!" exclaimed Elizabeth. 

For a second, Mrs. Trumbull sat with 
her mouth wide open. 

“Your ma was n't sickly," she finally 
gasped. 

“I did n't say she was," returned Eliza- 
beth. 

“Then what in the world would she 
want any one fussing around her own 
head for?" demanded Mrs. Trumbull. 

“Why, to be properly dressed, every 
one needs a maid," Elizabeth answered, 
disdainfully. 

“I s'pose you have one ?" inquired Mrs. 
Trumbull, holding her breath. 

“Of course." 

“Well, I declare! And you look real 
hearty, too, though you have n't as much 
color as I like to see in a girl your age." 

Elizabeth flushed, and then laughed 
weakly. She was glad no one was around 
to overhear this conversation. 

5i 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


'That ’s almost ridiculous/’ she re- 
turned. 

"Thank goodness / ’ve always been 
able to dress myself ever since I could 
reach the buttons behind my back/’ an- 
swered Mrs. Trumbull. 

"Of course any one can, but it ’s very 
tiring,” replied Elizabeth, sinking back 
languorously in her chair. 

As though to offset this lazy pose as 
far as possible, Mrs. Trumbull immedi- 
ately straightened herself once more into 
a right angle. Her black eyes began to 
snap. 

"If Spence Churchill has dragged me 
on here, thinking I ’m going to dress a 
girl of your size, he ’s mightily mistaken,” 
she declared. "He said he wanted me to 
show you how to do the things your 
mother did. I ’d get out of my grave 
to do that much for Mary’s sake, but I 
did n’t s’pose that meant showing you how 
to put on your clothes.” 

52 


A FAIRY GODMOTHER 


Elizabeth sprang to her feet, angry and 
indignant. 

“I don't want you to show me how to 
do anything," she cried. 

“There now!" returned Mrs. Trumbull, 
coolly, “with your dander up, you do look 
something like your ma." 

Elizabeth started for the door, but be- 
fore she was half-way across the room, 
she saw her retreat blocked by her fa- 
ther. He stood looking in at her with a 
half-amused, half-annoyed expression. 
She hesitated, and then turned back help- 
lessly. Mr. Churchill strode in after her, 
with his hand outstretched toward Mrs. 
Trumbull. 

“It was kind of you to come," he said 
heartily. “I see you have already met 
my daughter." 

Mrs. Trumbull rose eagerly at sound of 
his voice. 

“Spence !" she exclaimed. “It ’s good 
to lay eyes on you again." 

53 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

“It 's good to see your eyes again, 
Sally,” he answered. “They are as 
young as ever.” 

“It 's a wonder they have n't popped 
out my head at the things I 've seen to- 
day,” she answered. 

“I Ve tried often enough to get you to 
visit me,” he reminded her. 

“I know it, Spence, but I guess I be- 
long back where things have n't changed 
so from what they used to be.” 

He looked troubled for a second. Then 
he answered soberly, his eyes resting on 
Elizabeth : 

“I don't know but we'd all be better 
off back there. But you must be tired. 
Elizabeth should have shown you to your 
room. We have dinner in half an hour. 
There’ll be time enough to talk after 
that.” 

Mrs. Trumbull hesitated. 

“Spence,” she declared, “if there was 
a train back home to-night, I 'd take it!” 
54 


A FAIRY GODMOTHER 


Elizabeth looked up with interest. But 
her father placed his hand affectionately 
upon the little lady’s thin shoulders. 

“There, there,” he comforted her. 
“You ’re tired after your long ride. Take 
my arm, and I ’ll show you to your room 
myself.” 

Mrs. Trumbull glanced once more at 
Elizabeth, who stood uneasily, with her 
eyes lowered. Then she took Mr. 
Churchill’s arm, and the two went out. 


55 


IV 


MARIE DEPARTS 

W HEN Elizabeth awoke at fifteen 
minutes past her usual rising time 
next morning, she was astonished not to 
find Marie in the room. She called, but 
received no response. Springing out of 
bed, she opened her door and called into 
the hall. She received no answer. 
Slowly the truth began to dawn upon 
her : this was the beginning. She sat upon 
the edge of the bed and, staring dismally 
at her clothes, waited for ten minutes, 
hoping against hope. But no one came. 
Apparently she had been left here to get 
into her clothes as best she could. For 
all her father cared, she could probably 
sit here until night. The thought roused 

56 


MARIE DEPARTS 


her temper. If they thought she was 
such a little fool that she couldn’t dress 
herself, she would show them they were 
mistaken. 

In a sort of daze she began to pull on 
her stockings. Her toes went into her 
heels, and she quite lost her temper in try- 
ing to jerk them round. She succeeded, 
but left them twisted and wrinkled. She 
clambered into the other clothes one by 
one. None of them seemed to fit. Her 
skirt hung awry, her waist was wrinkled, 
and she was covered with as many 
bunches and gaps as a poorly done-up bun- 
dle. The bunches were very uncomfort- 
able, and through the gaps bits of lace 
and ribbon protruded. In a final attempt 
to remedy these faults, she pulled and 
poked until she was red in the face, and 
her mirror reflected so ridiculous a figure 
that she had to bite her lips to keep from 
crying. 

With fingers made clumsy by disuse, 

57 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


she next tried to put her hair in order. 
The average boy could have done as well. 
She snarled it up while combing it, and 
pulled out the knots by main force as long 
as she could endure the pain. She 
braided it after a fashion, but tried in vain 
to arrange it properly. In all she was 
nearly an hour in making herself ugly, 
where Marie, in half the time, would have 
left her trim and trig. 

And yet, for all this, she took a certain 
pride in her accomplishment. She had 
succeeded in clothing herself at any rate, 
and thereby proved that she was not quite 
the dunce Mrs. Trumbull apparently 
thought her. She hurried down-stairs 
to see what further developments awaited 
her. She was half afraid lest she should 
next be forced to cook her own breakfast. 
Her father was waiting her arrival, 
though the delay cost him an hour of pre- 
cious time. He greeted her tenderly, if 
with a certain amount of curiosity. 

58 


MARIE DEPARTS 


“I was late because Marie did not 
come/’ she explained. 

“Marie has gone/' he answered. 

“Gone?” 

“I have given her an indefinite vacation. 
You will not need her in your new home.” 

“But I shall! Look at me, Daddy.” 

She turned around slowly in front of 
him. 

“For a first attempt, I think you did 
very well,” he assured her. 

“I ’m a fright, and you 're laughing at 
me,” she sobbed. 

He started at this. Then he placed his 
arm around her tenderly. 

“My dear girl,” he said soberly, “I ’m 
not laughing at you. I ’m honestly proud 
of you. You have proven you can rise to 
an emergency. Marie declared it would 
be impossible for you to dress yourself at 
all.” 

“And so did Mrs. Trumbull, I suppose,” 
returned Elizabeth. 


59 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


At that moment, Mrs. Trumbull en- 
tered. 

“I did n’t say so,” she admitted frankly, 
“but I thought so.” 

“She went up-stairs to give you your 
first lesson,” explained Mr. Churchill. 

Elizabeth faced Mrs. Trumbull. 

“Thank you,” she replied coldly. “But 
if Daddy wishes me to do such things, I 
will do them without help.” 

From a social point of view the break- 
fast was not a success. Though Mr. 
Churchill did his best to brighten the con- 
versation, Elizabeth could not help but 
show her resentment, while still conscious 
of the gaps in the back of her waist. Mrs. 
Trumbull herself was not comfortable in 
her new surroundings, and spent half her 
time scowling at Lizette, who seemed ever 
upon the point of laughing at her awk- 
wardness. Every one was glad when 
Mr. Churchill finally rose. But the next 
second, Elizabeth felt her heart sink once 
60 


MARIE DEPARTS 

more as her father turned and said quiet- 
ly: 

“I wish to see you in the library, Eliza- 
beth.” 

She followed him to the door, where he 
stood aside to allow her to enter. He 
began abruptly. 

“My girl,” he said, “you begin your 
new life to-day, and I wish you to under- 
stand clearly what I hope it to be. The 
house and everything in it is yours, as it 
was your mother’s. You may arrange it 
to suit yourself; you may run it to suit 
yourself. In that you are to be absolutely 
independent. This is true also of the 
land, the barn, the cow, and the chickens. 
With these Martin will help you.” 

“Martin!” exclaimed Elizabeth. 

“In the old country he used to have a 
small farm. He will do the milking.” 

“Martin milk a cow?” gasped Eliza- 
beth. 

“Rather than leave you, he has con- 
61 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


sented. He is treating you rather better 
than you have treated him, I should 
say.” 

“But he will look too absurd milking a 
cow in those short trousers and that white 
waistcoat. Why — ” 

Mr. Churchill smiled. 

“Perhaps he will exchange that livery 
for a pair of overalls,” he suggested. 

“Then he will look even more absurd,” 
declared Elizabeth. 

“You may dress him as you please,” 
returned her father. “He will do what- 
ever you wish outside the house. Now 
about Mrs. Trumbull,” continued her fa- 
ther, “I am sorry to say I don't think you 
have treated her very cordially.” 

“How can I?” demanded Elizabeth. 

“She is fine gold,” Mr. Churchill an- 
swered. “She has consented to remain 
for your mother's sake. You can make 
a veritable fairy godmother of her if you 
choose.” 


62 


MARIE DEPARTS 

“Fairy godmother — of her?” exclaimed 
Elizabeth. 

“You will see. If you wish, she will 
teach you to sew and to cook, and in- 
struct you in all the fine art of housekeep- 
ing. Mind, she is there to teach you — 
as I have told her. And she will do 
everything else for you, as your mother 
would have done had she lived.” 

Elizabeth’s eyes grew moist. 

“Oh, Daddy,” she exclaimed, “I never 
needed my mother as I do now !” 

“Nor I, my girl,” answered her father, 
quietly. “It is my hope that in this way 
we may both get nearer to- her than we 
have been these last few years. You are 
going into her home; you are going to 
try to grow up like her, and so bring her 
back again to both of us. It is a very 
sacred undertaking.” 

“But — oh, I can’t think, Daddy !” 
Elizabeth cried impetuously. “Let me 
go back to school, Daddy! I will grow 

63 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

up like her there. I will try so hard. I 
will — ” 

Mr. Churchill placed his hand firmly 
on his daughter’s arm. 

“We will not go over that again,” he 
said. “Take up your new life in that 
same spirit. You can make it very beau- 
tiful.” 

“No! no! no!” sobbed Elizabeth. 

Mr. Churchill went on, ignoring the 
girl’s tears. They made it harder for 
him, but they did not weaken his deter- 
mination. 

“Treat Mrs. Trumbull kindly, and she 
will stay with you,” he said. “Treat her 
unkindly, and I ’m very much afraid she 
will leave. In that case, you will not 
only have missed an opportunity to make 
a fine-souled woman your friend, but you 
will be left alone.” 

“Alone? In that house alone?” ex- 
claimed Elizabeth, looking up with 
startled eyes. 


64 


MARIE DEPARTS 


“It rests with you as your whole life 
there rests with you. Remember that 
you enter that house as a little woman ?j 
not as a school-girl.” 

“And all my friends — what will be- 
come of them?’’ gasped Elizabeth. 

“The true friends will remain your 
true friends/’ answered Mr. Churchill. 
“Here again you may do as you choose. 
Ask them to your house, entertain them 
as your means will allow. Your mother 
entertained a great deal. Accept their 
invitations as your time will permit.” 

“How can I, with no clothes to wear?” 
asked Elizabeth. 

“Your mother found it possible. Mrs. 
Trumbull will show you how to make 
them.” 

“But that was a long time ago.” 

“Men and women have not changed 
greatly at heart since then,” answered 
Mr. Churchill. “Nor have honest tastes 
changed. Fashions alter, but that which 

65 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


is really beautiful remains always beauti- 
ful. I doubt if your mother would have 
dressed to-day very differently from the 
way she dressed then.” 

“And the dancing-school and — ” 

“I should think you might have little 
dances of your own/’ her father sug- 
gested. “Your mother used to arrange 
the big room for such affairs.” 

Elizabeth’s face brightened. This did 
not sound like such a bad idea. B,ut 
how would she ever get dressed for such 
an occasion without Marie? And what 
would she dress herself in? No, it was 
all absurd and impossible. There would 
be no chef to prepare the spread, no 
orchestra, no anything! Oh, how she 
was to be pitied! The Brookfield girls 
would not come, anyway, if they knew 
she was doing her own work. And if 
they did come, it would be only to poke 
fun at her. 

“I remember that on Hallowe’en 

66 


MARIE DEPARTS 


nights, at Thanksgiving, and at Christ- 
mas, we used to have very gay times,” 
Mr. Churchill continued. “I have never 
since seen so much merriment, heard 
gayer music, tasted such good things, 
seen more lovely women. And the fair- 
est and most beautiful of them all was 
your mother.” 

He said this so sincerely and proudly 
that, for a second, Elizabeth caught the 
contagion of his enthusiasm. She heard 
the music and the laughter, saw the little 
rooms gaily adorned with green and scar- 
let, and pictured her mother the admired 
center of the happy throng. 

“Oh,” she cried, “if I could do that!” 

“All that your mother had is still in 
the house,” he said. “And all that is left 
on earth of her spirit is in you. I believe 
that with these you can bring back to the 
old home the old life. I believe you can, 
my girl.” 

He rested his hand upon her head. 

67 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

But the next second the vision faded be- 
fore her eyes. 

“I ’m — I ’m not like Mother/’ she 
sobbed. 

“Then make yourself like her/’ said 
her father, gently. 

For a second he clasped her in his 
arms, and then drew from his pocket an 
iron key. He handed her this. 

“Here is the key to the house,” he said. 
“And may God be with you there as He 
was with your mother — dear little Lady 
of the Lane.” 

Elizabeth felt her heart grow big. It 
was so that all her neighbors had called 
her mother. With a sudden passion of 
affection, she clung to her father’s neck, 
and kissed him again and again. 


68 




V 


THE HOUSE IN THE LANE 

I T was the last day of May, when 
Elizabeth took possession of her new 
home. Though the exterior had been fa- 
miliar to her all her life, the interior was 
an unknown world. Mr. Churchill had 
allowed no one to cross the threshold 
from the day he took his baby up to the 
big house which he had built for her 
mother. But many a time, late at night, 
he, himself, had gone back, thrown open 
the windows, and dusted about the house 
as best he could. Men used to wonder 
what relief he found from the steady 
grind of his* work. It was this sacred 
task. 

It was with some curiosity, then, that 
5 7 1 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

Elizabeth fitted the iron key into the lock, 
and opened the door. Behind her stood 
Mrs. Trumbull, and behind the latter, 
stood Martin, bearing a small steamer 
trunk on his shoulder. 

Elizabeth stepped in. The house 
smelled sweet and fresh, though it 
seemed a little damp. She found herself 
in a hall, papered with a quaint design of 
roses, now faded, with stairs leading to the 
second story. Two doors opened out of 
it — one at the end, and one at the right. 
She opened the latter, and found herself 
in the main living-room. The side win- 
dows faced The Towers. The curtains 
were up, and the afternoon sun flooded 
into the room, making it look cheerful 
and bright. The shades, however, were 
faded, and blackened with dust, while the 
old carpet looked very odd to Elizabeth 
in contrast with the rich rugs at the other 
house. The furniture, too, was of a 
much simpler type than that which had 
72 


THE HOUSE IN THE LANE 


surrounded her all her life. The first 
effect, in spite of the sunshine, was de- 
pressing to her. The room looked cold 
and barren. But, to Mrs. Trumbull it 
seemed far more homelike than the more 
luxurious quarters she had just left. 
She was at once all enthusiasm, though 
her delight was tempered with something 
of sadness, too. It seemed strange to 
find the house living on just the same 
after its mistress had gone. 

“I declare ! I can almost see your 
mother sitting here now,” choked Mrs. 
Trumbull. 

Elizabeth shivered as she led the way 
into the next room. This was larger 
than the first, extending the whole width 
of the house. It had two windows on 
each side, those on the left being partly 
shielded by a lilac bush just beginning to 
blossom. Through the leaves one caught 
glimpses of a stretch of green fields, some 
five acres, which sloped in the direction 
73 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

of the city beyond. Like the front room, 
it had a low ceiling and was full of sun- 
shine. It had been used as a dining- 
room, but now, with all the dishes packed 
away and nothing in sight but a bare 
table and an empty sideboard, it looked 
as cheerless as an attic. There was a 
cupboard in the recess below the stairs, 
which Elizabeth was quick to discover. 
She opened the door, but found it filled 
with nothing but old china. The dishes 
were dusty, and many of them were 
nicked and cracked. She had turned 
away from these, when Mrs. Trumbull 
came up. Nothing seemed to be too old 
or tawdry to excite an exclamation of de- 
light from the latter. 

“There!” she exclaimed, “I wondered 
whatever had become of that china. It 
belonged to your grandmother Randolph. 
She gave it to Mary as a wedding pres- 
ent. It must be seventy-five years old.” 

“It looks more like a hundred and 

74 


THE HOUSE IN THE LANE 

seventy-five,” returned Elizabeth. “Still, 
it may do for the kitchen table.” 

“For the kitchen table!” snorted Mrs. 
Trumbull. “Your grandmother’s china 
for the kitchen table?” 

“I — I meant the cracked ones,” an- 
swered Elizabeth, uneasily. 

She had not looked at the collection as 
an heirloom, but merely as so many 
chipped dishes. 

In one corner of the room was an old 
Franklin stove, rusty, and covered with 
cobwebs. It was another melancholy 
reminder of the past. Elizabeth hurried 
into the next room. This was the 
kitchen. 

“Your mother used to keep it so clean 
here, you could eat off the floor!” ex- 
claimed Mrs. Trumbull, “but lor! look at 
it now!” 

A rusty stove stood on one side of the 
room, and an iron sink on another. Pots 
and kettles, tin dippers and pans, hung 
75 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


where they had been left, but they had 
gathered much dust. They had once 
been polished as brightly as mirrors, but 
now were dark and tarnished. Mrs. 
Trumbull crossed to a door which stood 
to the left of the sink, and swung it open. 

“There ’s plenty of wood here, Beth,” 
she announced, as she glanced in. “Do 
you want to build a fire in the kitchen 
stove before we go any farther?” 

“No, thanks,” Elizabeth answered 
stubbornly. 

“You ’ll have to make one later on, if 
you have anything for supper,” said Mrs. 
Trumbull. 

“I thought you ’d get supper,” said 
Elizabeth. 

“It would only be putting off your first 
lesson if I did,” answered Mrs. Trum- 
bull. “You ’ll never get ahead that way.” 

Mrs. Trumbull caught sight of a barrel 
of flour and the other necessary materials 
for cooking. 


76 


THE HOUSE IN THE LANE 


“I see he ’s given you the things to do 
with,” she said. “We might have some 
hot biscuits for supper.” 

For a moment, Elizabeth frowned at 
Mrs. Trumbull. Then she turned away. 

“We will not have any supper,” she de- 
clared. “For all I care we ’ll never have 
anything to eat!” 

Elizabeth looked around for some way 
of escape. The one thing she wished 
now, was to be by herself. A flight of 
stairs led from the kitchen to the cham- 
bers above. She swiftly mounted these, 
and hurried to the front room which had 
been her mother’s. Here Mr. Churchill’s 
housekeeping efforts revealed some re- 
sult. There was no dust to be seen, and 
everything was in order. Yet, in spite of 
this, the passing years had left their 
mark. The wall-paper, a cream-white 
with a faint design of blue, had faded, 
and the curtains had grown discolored 
with time. The floor was covered with 
77 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


straw matting and home-made rugs. A 
large four-poster bed stood in one corner, 
and, between the two front windows, 
there was a large bureau. The few sim- 
ple toilet articles which were her mother’s 
were there, even to a small pincushion 
still full of pins. A few queer, old pic- 
tures and an oval mirror completed the 
furnishings. In contrast with her cham- 
ber at The Towers, this room seemed to 
Elizabeth as bare of luxury as Lizette’s. 

The bed was not made up, but in the 
large closet near it, she found a camphor 
trunk filled with clean, white linen. That 
was all very well, but who was to spread 
the sheets, and put on the pillow-cases, 
and smooth out the wrinkles, as Marie 
had always done? Mrs. Trumbull, who 
came in at this moment, suggested an an- 
swer to that question. 

“If I were you, my dear,” she said 
kindly, “I ’d whisk those sheets out of the 
box and hang them up in the sun.” 

78 


THE HOUSE IN THE LANE 

Elizabeth sank into a chair. 

“Don’t tell me to do anything more,” 
she sighed. “I ’m very tired.” 

“Tired?” exclaimed Mrs. Trumbull. 
“What in the world have you done, so 
far, to make you tired?” 

“The very thought of all these hateful 
things Daddy wishes me to do makes me 
tired.” 

“That ’s it exactly,” declared Mrs. 
Trumbull. “It ’s the thought of them. 
Land alive! If you was to pitch in now 
and do them, it would n’t be half the 
work.” 

“I can’t, and I won’t,” answered Eliza- 
beth. 

“Well, you can do as you please, of 
course,” answered Mrs. Trumbull, “but 
I know I ’m going to have a clean, sweet 
bed to sleep in to-night. The expressman 
just brought my trunk, and I told him to 
put it in the next room. I s’pose you 
want me to sleep there?” 

79 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


“You may sleep anywhere you like/’ 
For an hour, Elizabeth sat by the win- 
dow, tapping her boot against the floor, 
and planning what course she should pur- 
sue with Miss Grimshawe when she went 
back to school. She determined to be 
very polite,* but very cold and distant. In 
the meanwhile, Mrs. Trumbull flitted in 
and out of the room, busy in arranging 
her things. It was almost four o’clock 
when she finished. With the sun creep- 
ing toward the horizon line, it became 
cooler, and it was this fact which turned 
her thoughts again to Elizabeth. She 
found the girl sitting by the window. 
The forlorn little figure disarmed her sus- 
picion, and excited her sympathy. She 
crossed to the girl’s side. 

“Lor, child !” she exclaimed. “Why 
don’t you fly round now, and get your 
things ready for the night?” 

“ I ’m waiting for Daddy to come and 
get me,” faltered Elizabeth. 

80 


THE HOUSE IN THE LANE 


Mrs. Trumbull drew a deep breath. 
She understood Spencer Churchill and 
his plans well enough to know that Eliza- 
beth might as well put this thought out 
of her mind once for all. She also knew 
that it was quite useless to try to make 
the girl herself understand this. And 
something must be done. 

“Look here, Beth/’ she broke out, “it 
does n’t seem to me you ’re showing much 
spirit.” 

Elizabeth looked up quickly. 

Mrs. Trumbull was standing with her 
hands upon her hips, her black eyes snap- 
ping. 

“What do you mean?” faltered Eliza- 
beth. 

“I mean it does n’t show much spunk to 
sit down and wait for your dad to come 
for you. Why don’t you make him 
come ?” 

“Make him come?” repeated Elizabeth, 
sitting up very straight. 

81 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

“That ’s what your ma would do. She 
wouldn’t sit there helpless as a baby; 
she ’d fix things up so cozy round here, 
he ’d want to come. Land alive, child, if 
you go at it right, you can make him so 
sorry he is n’t living here, he ’ll be home- 
sick.” 

Here was a new idea. 

“Make Dad sorry he is n’t living here?” 
she pondered. 

“You can be sure of one thing, that if 
he saw the place now, he wouldn’t be 
sorry. The house is as cold as a barn, 
and there is n’t a single bite to eat. There 
are two things every man likes: fire and 
food. If I were you, I ’d always have 
them in the house, waiting for him.” 

“He ’s probably toasting his back in 
front of an open fire this minute,” moaned 
Elizabeth, “and I am cold and hungry.” 

“Bah!” exclaimed Mrs. Trumbull, “I ’ll 
bet he ’d rather be down here with us for 
82 



The shavings blazed up, filled the room with smoke, and went out 



THE HOUSE IN THE LANE 


all that, if it looked anywhere near cheer- 
ful." 

“Dad would rather be here?" 

“Of course he would." 

“But it ’s so lonely and — " 

“Lonely ? I ’ll bet it ’s twice as lonely 
up in that big ark of a house." 

“But there ’s nothing here." 

“Nothing? There is everything. 
There ’s more of home in one of these 
rooms than in that whole place. Your 
mother would have made a king want to 
swap his palace to come down here. You 
can do it, too. If I was in your place, / 
would n’t let a man stand with his back 
to the fire and laugh at me — not when I 
had such a chance as this. I ’d fix things 
up so pretty, that he ’d come to the door 
and beg to be let in." 

Elizabeth sprang to her feet. 

“If I could do that!" she exclaimed. 

“Well, you can," replied Mrs. Trum- 

85 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


bull, “but it won’t be by sitting in a chair 
and moping. I never yet saw a man who 
would n’t run a mile to get away from a 
moper.” 

Without another word, Elizabeth 
turned, and ran down-stairs to the wood- 
shed. Here she gathered up an armful 
of shavings and kindling and rushed to 
the fireplace in the front room. She 
tossed in the wood and touched a match 
to it. The shavings blazed up for a mo- 
ment, filled the room with smoke, and 
went out. 


86 


VI 


MY LADY COOKS AN OMELET 

N OTHING daunted by this failure, 
Elizabeth proceeded at once to the 
kitchen, and here Martin showed her how 
to build a fire, with so much kindly atten- 
tion to details, that all she had to do was 
to touch a lighted match to the kindling. 
Then she picked up a cook-book as the 
first step toward preparing supper. 

The chef always began his dinners with 
soup, but as she looked over the many 
recipes, she could not find one that did not 
call for some ingredient which she did 
not possess. Half the materials she had 
never heard of. Soup stock, for instance, 
seemed to be an essential of all soups. 
When she turned to the recipe for this, 
87 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


she was confronted with the following 
formula : six pounds of shin of beef, three 
quarts of cold water, one half teaspoon of 
peppercorns, six cloves, one half a bay- 
leaf, three sprigs of thyme, one sprig of 
marjoram, two sprigs of parsley, one half 
cup of carrot, one half cup of turnip, one 
half cup of onion, one half cup of celery. 
It sounded more like a prescription than 
a recipe. Moreover, it took from six to 
seven hours to cook it, and, when all was 

* 

done, this was only the foundation of a 
soup. 

She decided, therefore, that she must 
do without soup. She must begin with 
the next course — fish. But there was no 
recipe for the preparation of fish which 
did not demand, as an essential, a fish of 
some sort. She had no fish, and no way 
of getting one. 

What then could she have? She 
turned to the menus at the back of the 
book. They fairly made her mouth 
88 


MY LADY COOKS AN OMELET 


water — oyster and macaroni croquettes; 
stuffed fillets of halibut with Hollandaise 
sauce; tomato jelly, spring lamb, and 
cheese souffles, larded grouse; sultana 
roll— 

She paused at this. If she had noth- 
ing but sultana roll, it might do very well 
for one meal. She turned back the pages 
to see how it was made. She read as fol- 
lows : 

Line a one-pound baking-powder box with 
pistachio ice-cream. 

There was no need of going further. 
Where in the world was she to get pista- 
chio ice-cream? One ought to live next 
door to a confectionery shop — between a 
confectionery shop and a baker shop — 
to prepare successfully such a delicacy as 
that. 

Reluctantly, she passed over one after 
another of these tempting dishes. Yes- 
terday, it would only have been necessary 
6 89 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

to confide to Marie in the morning that 
she felt a craving for this, that, or the 
other thing, and at night she would find it 
on the table. 

The longer she studied the cook-book, 
the clearer it became to her that the best 
things she could have for supper were hot 
bread of some sort and eggs in some form. 
After much deliberation, she decided upon 
popovers and an omelet. She was very 
fond of both. In some fear lest she 
might be cheated of even these by a de- 
mand for marjoram or thyme, she turned 
to the recipes. Her heart was gladdened 
at once. They were absurdly simple, and 
called for nothing but flour, eggs, milk, 
and butter. All four articles stood on the 
table as though waiting for this very 
thing. 

To make popovers, all one had to do was 
to mix a cup of flour with a bit of salt, 
add gradually a cup of milk and beaten 
yolk of an egg, fold in the beaten white, 
90 


MY LADY COOKS AN OMELET 

and bake twenty-five minutes in a hot 
oven. A girl must be a dunce, indeed, 
to need further instructions in so simple 
a matter. It was a great deal easier than 
fudge. According to the photograph of 
the finished product, which accompanied 
the recipe, they ought to be fully as good 
as the chef’s. 

Taking down the mixing bowl, she pro- 
ceeded at once to her task. She intended 
to produce these delicious popovers as a 
surprise to Mrs. Trumbull, although the 
latter, by no means, deserved so fine a 
supper. Obeying instructions, she took 
an egg, and tried to crack the shell, in 
order to separate the yolk from the white. 
She used an iron spoon and went at it 
much as she would crack a walnut. At 
the first attempt, she crushed yolk, white, 
and shell into a single, slimy, yellow mess. 
Discarding this, she began again, and 
tapped the shell lightly. In this way she 
made a small hole, through which she 
9i 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


tried to shake out the egg. When it 
finally came, it came yolk and all. She 
gave up all idea of trying to separate 
them, and turned them together into the 
bowl. If they were to be mixed in the 
end, she saw no reason why they should 
not be mixed at the beginning. 

When Martin came in with the fresh 
milk, she delegated him to attend to the 
stove. 

“I shall need a hot oven, Martin,” she 
informed him. 

Martin looked with some curiosity at 
the batter Elizabeth was so briskly beat- 
ing. She was spattering everything 
within two feet of the bowl, including her- 
self. Even she, with all her faith, could 
not help wondering how so sticky a mix- 
ture could ever possibly develop into pop- 
overs. She found a gem pan, and but- 
tered it according to instructions. She 
filled each little hollow, and then turned 
to Martin. 


92 


MY LADY COOKS AN OMELET 


“Have you a watch ?” she demanded. 

“Yes, miss.” 

“What time is it, please?” 

“Twenty minutes of six, miss.” 

She made a hurried calculation. The 
popovers should come out at five minutes 
past six. 

“Open the oven door, Martin.” 

Martin obeyed. Elizabeth shoved in 
the pan, and closed the door as quickly as 
though she expected the popovers to jump 
out like frightened kittens. 

“Now, Martin,” she ordered, “I want 
you to sit right there, with your watch in 
your hand, and let me know when it is five 
minutes past six.” 

Though the order was peremptory, 
Martin hesitated. He had plenty of his 
own work yet to do in the barn. 

“Perhaps if I was to come in a little after 
six,” he suggested. 

“No,” Elizabeth objected at once, “I ’m 
going to be very busy with the rest of the 
93 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

supper, and can’t be bothered tending the 
fire.” 

“Very well,” Martin submitted. 

And so, watch in hand, he stood by the 
oven door. However, he kept one eye 
upon Elizabeth, eager to learn what the 
rest of the supper might be. 

Elizabeth picked up her cook-book and 
turned to “Omelet.” She discovered that 
there were many kinds to choose from. 
One might have an oyster omelet, an or- 
ange omelet, a jelly omelet, a bread ome- 
let, a French omelet, an omelet with 
croutons, an omelet a la Martin, a Span- 
ish omelet, an omelet Robespierre, and, 
finally, a plain omelet. Obviously, a plain 
omelet was what she needed for supper. 
She briskly broke four eggs into the bowl, 
added salt, pepper, and milk, and mixed 
all these things together. This done, she 
.faced Martin as though inviting criticism. 
The latter only murmured, staring at his 
94 


,'WM 



Elizabeth makes an omelet 



MY LADY COOKS AN OMELET 


watch as though he were timing a trotting 
horse. 

“Ten minutes to a second, miss.” 

“Very good,” she answered. “Every- 
thing will be ready at the same time.” 

She put some butter into her frying- 
pan, and poured the mixture into it. 

“This must cook slowly, Martin,” she 
informed him, as she placed it upon the 
stove. 

Martin looked uncomfortable. If she 
were to thrust the responsibility of this 
second dish upon him, he didn’t know 
what he would do. 

“I don’t understand anything about 
puddings, miss,” he hastened to explain 
to her. 

“Who said anything about puddings?” 
Elizabeth demanded. 

“I was afraid you were going to leave 
that — ” He nodded toward the frying- 
pan. 


97 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


“That is a plain omelet,” she answered 
coldly. “When well puffed and delicately 
browned underneath,” she quoted from the 
cook-book as glibly as though it were the 
result of her own experience, — “when del- 
icately browned underneath, you may 
place the pan on the center grate of the 
oven to finish cooking on top.” 

It did not take the omelet more than 
two minutes to brown on the bottom. In 
fact, it not only browned, but burned, 
within that period. Elizabeth dragged it 
off, and nearly turned it upside down on 
the floor. She managed to save it, how- 
ever, and with Martin’s help shoved it 
into the oven. 

“Now,” she said determinedly, “I must 
freshen myself up.” 

“You are n’t going?” 

“I will be back in five minutes.” 

Whereupon she disappeared, leaving 
Martin staring anxiously at his watch. 
He was not accustomed to such responsi- 
98 


MY LADY COOKS AN OMELET 


bility as this in the matter of dinner. The 
most he had ever been called upon to do in 
connection with the preparation of this 
meal, was to await the chef’s signal that 
all was ready, and then convey this infor- 
mation from the kitchen to the drawing- 
room. No one could do that more expe- 
ditiously or with more dignity than he. 
He moved neither too rapidly nor too 
slowly; he spoke neither too gravely nor 
too flippantly. One guest had observed 
to Mr. Churchill that Martin’s mere an- 
nouncement was a sufficient voucher for 
a good dinner. Moreover, Martin made 
his distinctions : he did not announce 
breakfast as he did dinner ; he did not an- 
nounce a dinner for two as he did a din- 
ner for twelve. All this is merely to show 
that, in his profession, Martin was a man 
of some standing, and that his handling 
of matters outside his own province 
should in no way reflect upon him. If the 
positions were reversed and the chef were 
99 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

told to announce one of his own dinners, 
see what a sorry botch he would make of 
it! 

Two minutes passed, then three, then 
five. Still Elizabeth did not return. An- 
other five minutes passed. A suspicious 
odor stole from the oven. Martin began 
to get excited as though timing a real 
horse-race; it was Elizabeth against the 
popovers, and the omelet against both of 
them. He was watching the second hand 
now. It galloped around the disk as 
nervously as a thoroughbred. One might 
have thought it was leaping two seconds 
in one, in its anxiety to put Martin in 
an awkward position. So three more 
minutes passed. With his watch in his 
left hand, his right hand outstretched to- 
ward the oven, he kept his eyes upon the 
kitchen door. The stove was becoming 
hotter every minute. Smoke began to 
steal from the oven in an ever-increasing 
volume. He was getting breathless. 


ioo 


MY LADY COOKS AN OMELET 


At this point Elizabeth reappeared, 
looking as unconcerned as though she had 
no part whatever, in this business. 

. “Quick, miss!” Martin panted. “We 
have only thirty seconds to spare.” 

‘That is very nice,” she nodded. “I 
will notify Mrs. Trumbull that supper is 
ready.” 

“You aren't going away again?” pro- 
tested Martin. 

“You may remove the things from the 
oven,” answered Elizabeth. 

“Five seconds more,” Martin an- 
nounced, with his hand outstretched to- 
ward the stove. 

“Mrs. Trumbull!” Elizabeth called, 
“supper is ready.” 

Martin swung open the door. A cloud 
of smoke rolled out. Nothing daunted, 
however, he seized a cloth, and removed 
the omelet. It was very brown; strictly 
speaking, it was black. He placed it on 
the floor, and grabbed the popovers. 

IOI 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


These, too, were very brown and very flat. 
They had n’t “popped” at all. He placed 
these on the floor beside the omelet. 
Elizabeth stared at them both. At that 
moment Mrs. Trumbull entered. 

“Why the table is n’t set !” she ex- 
claimed. 

“The table?” stammered Elizabeth. 
“Haven’t you done that?” 

“There is n’t a single thing on it. And 
those dishes will all have to be washed 
before we can eat from them.” 

Her eyes caught sight of the two pans 
on the floor. “What are those?” she in- 
quired. 

“Popovers and omelet,” Elizabeth an- 
swered unhesitatingly. 

If she had n’t made them according to 
directions, she would never have been 
able to name them herself. They resem- 
bled neither the description nor the photo- 
graph which accompanied the recipe in 
the cook-book. 


102 


MY LADY COOKS AN OMELET 

“Which is which ?” inquired Mrs. 
Trumbull. 

Disappointed and humiliated, Eliza- 
beth felt her eyes fill. She turned away, 
half inclined to retreat up-stairs again. 
Mrs. Trumbull instantly grew sympa- 
thetic. 

“You poor child !” she exclaimed. 
“You ought to have let me show you 
how.” 

But Elizabeth shrank back. To be 
sympathized with only made her failure 
more marked. Without a word, she hur- 
ried into the dining-room. The bare 
table looked very forbidding. She 
brought a few plates, knives, forks, and 
spoons from the closet, and, coming back 
into the kitchen with them, washed and 
dried them. Then she proceeded to set 
them on the uncovered dining-room table. 
She dumped the omelet into one dish, and 
the popovers into another, and once again 
announced supper. 

103 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


Mrs. Trumbull seated herself opposite 
the girl, not knowing what to say or do. 
Elizabeth served her a portion of the ome- 
let and a popover. Then, serving herself, 
she resolutely took a mouthful of the 
charred egg. She had all she could do 
to swallow it, but she managed it. Mrs. 
Trumbull, on the other hand, found it im- 
possible to swallow even so much as a 
mouthful. Neither, however, made any 
comment. So they sat there for five long 
minutes, making as serious a pretense at 
eating as two children over their mud- 
pies. Then Elizabeth inquired politely: 

“You are quite through, Mrs. Trum- 
bull ?” 

It was difficult to see how one could 
be through without having begun, but 
Mrs. Trumbull answered quietly: “Yes, 
Beth.” 

Elizabeth arose, and carried what was 
left of the supper into the kitchen for Mar- 
tin. 

104 


MY LADY COOKS AN OMELET 

“I ’m very tired, Martin,” she informed 
him. “Can you set your own table to- 
night?” 

“Yes, indeed, miss,” he answered 
quickly. “And I think you have done 
very well, miss, for the first day.” 

The praise was too much for Elizabeth. 
She caught her breath, with a sob. 

“Oh, I ’ve done horribly, — and I ’ve 
really tried, — and you ’ll starve to death 
if you stay here.” 

“There, miss, there,” Martin answered. 
“I ’ll do very well. Why, there ’s a lot 
left here for me!” 

That was literally true. Except for 
the single mouthful Elizabeth had forced 
down, it was all left. Elizabeth hurried to 
the back stairway and ran up to her room 
as fast as she could. Closing the door of 
her room behind her, she threw herself 
upon the bed. 

For a moment, Martin blinked after 
her, then he drew himself up to the kitchen 

105 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


table, and resolutely sat down before the 
cold, burned omelet and the flint-like coals 
which should have been popovers. With 
an effort, he choked down six mouthfuls 
of the former and one of the latter. 
Then, with as great a show of satisfaction 
as though he had made a full meal, he 
shoved back his chair. He stared wist- 
fully a moment at the dishes. He would 
have liked to wash them, but he did not 
dare. With a sigh, he went out to the 
barn to complete his chores. 

A half-hour later, Martin returned to 
the big house, where he was still to oc- 
cupy his old room. As he entered the 
kitchen, he found Lizette and the other 
girls just about to eat their dinner. In 
front of them was a fine roast of beef 
surrounded with vegetables. Martin’s 
mouth began to water. “Is it that you 
have dined?” inquired the chef, hospita- 
bly. 

Martin swallowed hard. 

106 


MY LADY COOKS AN OMELET 

“Yes, thank you,” he answered firmly. 

“Perhaps you can dine some more, eh?” 
persisted the chef. 

“Not another mouthful,” answered 
Martin. 

“Then,” decided the chef with a jealous 
leer, “it is not Miss Elizabeth who is the 
cook, eh?” 

“Oh, yes,” answered Martin, “Miss 
Elizabeth cooked the dinner.” 

“And you had ?” 

“Hot popovers and an omelet,” replied 
Martin. 

Then he made his escape as soon as pos- 
sible to avoid further questioning. There 
was a look in the chef's eye which he did 
not like. 


7 


107 


VII 


MY LADY RECEIVES 

E LIZABETH awoke the next morn- 
ing with her cheeks flushed at mem- 
ory of her failure in the kitchen the night 
before. But she also awoke decidedly 
hungry. For a little while, it was a 
struggle for mastery between her pride 
and her appetite, but by the time she was 
dressed, the latter had conquered. When 
Mrs. Trumbull repeated her offer to go 
down with her into the kitchen and show 
her how to prepare the breakfast, Eliza- 
beth accepted with a meek, “Thank you.” 
As a result, they all had a very satisfac- 
tory meal. 

This meekness lasted for the next two 
days, very much to Mrs. Trumbull’s sur- 
108 


MY LADY RECEIVES 


prise, and not a little to her discomfiture. 
In this mood, Elizabeth did not seem her- 
self. When, on the third morning, 
Elizabeth came down-stairs early and 
without assistance actually began to pre- 
pare the breakfast, Mrs. Trumbull grew 
serious. 

“Beth,” she asked gently, “are you 
sleeping well?” 

“Very well, thank you,” answered 
Elizabeth. 

“And there don’t appear to be anything 
wrong with your appetite,” Mrs. Trum- 
bull added to herself. Then she said 
aloud : “Is n’t there something else I can 
show you about?” 

“Nothing at all, thank you,” Elizabeth 
assured her. 

“Well,” sighed Mrs. Trumbull, “I 
s’pose time will tell.” 

She did not explain what she expected 
time to tell, but her prophecy was fulfilled 
immediately after breakfast. Elizabeth 
109 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

rose from the table with the calm an- 
nouncement : 

“I ’m going up-stairs now to read.” 

“Read? In the morning ?” gasped 
Mrs. Trumbull, holding up her hands in 
horror. 

“Why not?” asked Elizabeth. 

“Because this whole house needs sweep- 
ing, for one thing,” Mrs. Trumbull an- 
swered promptly. Whatever worry she 
had had about the girl vanished instantly. 

“I don’t care if it does,” retorted Eliza- 
beth. “I Ve done my best, and it ’s no 
use. I Ve washed dishes from morning 
until night, and there are always just as 
many the next day. I Ve dusted until 
I ’m tired of dusting, and there ’s no use 
in doing it, for the dust comes right back 
again.” 

It was clear from the expression in 
Mrs. Trumbull’s eyes, that, as usual, she 
had a ready explanation for this phenom- 
enon on the tip of her tongue, but before 
no 


MY LADY RECEIVES 


she could give utterance to it, Elizabeth 
flounced out of the door. She hurried up 
the back stairs to her room, and, finding 
a comfortable seat in the sun, picked up 
her book with a new relish. Here she 
remained for at least two hours, lazily 
reading and dozing with the utmost satis- 
faction. She was uninterrupted until 
Mrs. Trumbull came in. 

“There are some girls waiting in the 
sitting-room to see you,” she announced. 

Elizabeth jumped to her feet. 

“To see me!” she exclaimed. “Did 
they send up their cards?” 

“I did n’t wait for any,” answered Mrs. 
Trumbull. 

Elizabeth was breathless. If these 
were the Brookfield girls, or Nan, or — 
oh, it did not matter who it was! They 
had come on purpose to embarrass her. 
She stamped her foot indignantly. 

“Tell them I ’m not at home!” she ex- 
claimed. 


hi 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

“I won’t, ” Mrs. Trumbull answered 
abruptly. “I would n’t tell any one what 
is n’t true, even for Mary Churchill’s 
daughter.” 

“Tell them I can't see them. Tell 
them I won't see them,” stormed Eliza- 
beth. 

“No, Beth,” answered Mrs. Trumbull, 
“I ’ll do nothing of the kind. The room 
does n’t look as well as it might, but it 
is n’t anything to be ashamed of.” 

“It ’s horrible !” gasped Elizabeth. 
“And so am I. Look at me.” 

“Well, if folks come in the morning, 
they must expect to find you in your work 
clothes.” 

“That ’s it — work clothes ! They ’d 
never stop laughing at me!” 

“What would they laugh at?” 

“At my being sent over to this little 
house — at my having to do my own work. 
Oh, they’d laugh at everything!” 

1 12 


MY LADY RECEIVES 


“If I was you, I wouldn’t let them 
laugh/’ declared Mrs. Trumbull. 

“How can I help it?” 

“By not being ashamed of these things 
yourself,” answered Mrs. Trumbull. “I 
don’t like to see you this way, Beth. 
You are n’t doing anything but what your 
mother did. You can’t be ashamed of 
that. Go down just as you are. Hold 
your head high, and don’t apologize for a 
single thing.” 

“Oh!” gasped Elizabeth. 

Mrs. Trumbull placed her hand gently 
upon the girl’s shoulder. 

“To have had such a mother as yours, 
is reason enough for any girl to hold her 
head high in any company,” she said. 

Elizabeth took a quick breath. Then 
she clenched her fists. 

“I ’ll go,” she said. “And they shan’t 
dare laugh at me.” 

As Elizabeth came down-stairs, she 
113 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


heard the voices in the front room, and 
knew that her worst fears were realized 
— it was Jane and Helen Brookfield. 
These girls, though ranking low in their 
class work, were the recognized leaders 
of the school in matters of fashion. They 
were always the first to appear in gowns 
patterned as nearly in the latest style as 
was possible for young ladies of seven- 
teen. Both were very pretty. To-day 
being Saturday, they had probably 
dropped in while riding by. 

At the foot of the stairs, Elizabeth 
paused to catch her breath. She had 
heard what an ordeal it was to be pre- 
sented at court, but she felt now that she 
could face all the crowned heads of Eu- 
rope more easily than these two school- 
mates. She knew her cheeks were scar- 
let, and she feared that her knees would 
give way. Standing outside a second, she 
heard their whispers and suppressed 
giggles. It was certainly rude of them 
114 


MY LADY RECEIVES 


to come to her house and laugh, no matter 
what they might think of it. She entered 
the room with her head well up and her 
hand outstretched. 

<f Why, how do you do, Helen? And 
you too, Jane? It was kind of you to 
come.” 

Her voice was affected, but she carried 
herself so well as to leave the girls a bit 
confused, in fear lest they had been over- 
heard. Jane was the first to recover. 

‘We called at The Towers — ” she fal- 
tered. 

“And they told you I had moved ?” cut 
in Elizabeth, helping the visitor over her 
hesitation. “It ’s true. Won’t you sit 
down ?” 

The sisters seated themselves upon the 
dusty horsehair sofa to the right of the 
fireplace, and Elizabeth drew her moth- 
er’s rocking-chair to a position in front of 
them. She wished heartily enough now 
that, instead of reading after breakfast, 
US 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

she had followed Mrs. Trumbull’s advice 
and dusted. She was sure Helen was 
noting every speck of dirt, and, truth to 
tell, there was plenty to be seen. 

“All sorts of stories are going around 
school about you !” exclaimed Helen. 

She was slight and dark, with pretty, 
red cheeks and a childlike way of saying 
unkind things and asking forgiveness 
with her innocent eyes the minute they 
were spoken. 

“Really ?” laughed Elizabeth. “Tell 
me some of them.” 

“They say Miss Grimshawe wouldn’t 
let you come back.” 

“That is true,” answered Elizabeth, 
with an, effort. 

“And that your father was very angry 
with you.” 

“What did you say?” inquired Eliza- 
beth. 

“Why, we didn’t know what to say; 
did we, Jane?” 

116 








Fhe visitors seated themselves upon the sofa 






MY LADY RECEIVES 


“No,” answered Jane, mildly. She was 
examining every shred of Elizabeth’s cos- 
tume. 

“And,” ran on Helen, “they said you 
were to be shut up in a little old house.” 

“To live in my mother’s house,” Eliza- 
beth corrected. 

“Oh,” murmured Jane, “and was this 
your mother’s house?” 

The way she said it made Elizabeth 
wince. 

“Mother came here when she was first 
married,” Elizabeth explained. 

“Really?” giggled Helen. “Why, we 
thought it was the servants’ quarters; 
didn’t we, Jane?” 

“It was stupid of us,” apologized Jane. 

“Surely you are never stupid, Jane,” 
answered Elizabeth. 

Jane sat up a bit more rigidly. She knew 
her shortcomings. Helen, not knowing 
hers as well, smiled complacently. 

“Of course that was a long while ago, 
119 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


when every one around here lived in cozy 
little houses of their own/’ added Eliza- 
beth. 

“I ’m quite sure my mama did n’t,” ob- 
jected Helen, sweetly. “Did she, Jane?” 

“Mama has always preferred apart- 
ments,” answered Jane. “She has lived 
at the Belvidere ever since she was mar- 
ried.” 

“Apartments are so hotelly, don’t you 
think?” returned Elizabeth. 

“Mama says they save so much bother 
with servants,” answered Helen. “I sup- 
pose you brought your maids down with 
you from The Towers?” 

Elizabeth twisted uneasily. She won- 
dered just how much these girls had 
learned. But she braced herself to the 
unvarnished truth. 

“No, I didn’t bring any servants at 
all.” 

“No servants!” exclaimed Helen. 
“Then who is to do the work?” 


120 


MY LADY RECEIVES 

“I am/’ answered Elizabeth. 

“You?” 

Elizabeth nodded. 

“The cooking and dusting and — every- 
thing?” 

“Everything except milk the cow,” 
laughed Elizabeth. 

Now that she was in for it, she rather 
enjoyed making things as black as possi- 
ble. 

“When I get settled down, I may do 
even that,” she added. 

“Why, that — that is awful ; is n’t it, 
Jane?” exclaimed Helen. 

“It ’s much worse than any of the girls 
dreamed,” answered Jane. 

“It ’s like — why, it *s like being shut up 
in prison,” suggested Helen. 

“To have a house of your own to do 
with as you please ?” demanded Elizabeth. 
“I should call it a good deal more like 
prison to have to march up to Miss Grim- 
shawe’s every morning, and sit in two or 
121 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


three stuffy rooms until the middle of the 
afternoon. I don’t have any one here to 
tell me to do this or that. I can do as I 
please.” 

In trying to make the situation as at- 
tractive as possible to her visitors, Eliza- 
beth found herself unconsciously making 
it attractive to herself. She had not until 
this moment appreciated the real liberty 
she was enjoying. Before, she had 
looked at it from the point of view of the 
boarding-school. Viewing it now as an 
outsider, it appeared quite different. She 
warmed up to her subject even more as 
she ran on. 

“I ’d rather take orders from myself,” 
she said, “than from Miss Grimshawe. 
And I ’d rather do a problem from a cook- 
book than an arithmetic. And I ’d as 
soon wipe dishes as blackboards.” 

Elizabeth found herself getting ex- 
cited. She paused a moment to catch her 
breath. 


122 


MY LADY RECEIVES 

“How funny !” cooed Helen. “And 
can you learn French and singing in the 
kitchen ?” 

“Can you learn them at school ?” re- 
torted Elizabeth. 

“I ’m sure I did very well with my 
irregular verbs last week, did n’t I, 
Jane?” 

“And Miss Santier said I might have 
a very good voice if I practised long 
enough, didn’t she, Helen?” returned 
Jane. 

Elizabeth smiled. Jane Brookfield’s 
voice was the joke of the school. 

“Well,” said Elizabeth, “I can take 
singing lessons in the kitchen if I can’t 
French.” 

“From whom?” inquired Helen, her 
big, blue eyes wide with wonder. 

“From the tea-kettle,” answered Eliza- 
beth. “You ought to have heard it sing 
this morning. It trilled and gurgled 
while I was getting breakfast, for all the 
123 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

world like Miss Santier in one of her Ital- 
ian songs.” 

“You don’t mean to say you prepared 
breakfast yourself?” exclaimed Helen. 

“Who else would get it?” asked Eliza- 
beth. 

“The person who opened the door and 
would n’t wait for our cards,” suggested 
Jane. 

“I guess you ’d go hungry if you waited 
for her to do things for you,” laughed 
Elizabeth. “But she showed me how. I 
learned to make biscuits yesterday.” 

“She ’s your governess then ?” inquired 
Helen. 

“No. She ’s just my friend,” answered 
Elizabeth. 

Jane glanced significantly at Helen. It 
was a very superior sort of glance. It 
did not escape Elizabeth. But, if it was 
meant to embarrass her for having ac- 
knowledged such a woman to be her 
friend, it failed of its purpose. She felt 
124 


MY LADY RECEIVES 


more kindly disposed toward Mrs. Trum- 
bull after that than she had at any time 
since the latter’s arrival. 

“You must meet her,” said Elizabeth, 
sweetly. 

Helen rose instantly. 

“I think we must be going; must n’t we, 
Jane?” she said quickly. 

“I ’d ask you to stay longer if I were 
settled,” said Elizabeth, politely. “Per- 
haps by and by you can come for the day.” 

“We only dropped in to see what had 
become of you,” Helen responded. “I 
suppose you ’ll be at the dancing class this 
afternoon ?” 

Elizabeth had forgotten all about the 
dancing class. For a moment she looked 
a bit wistful. Then she put it out of her 
mind. 

“No,” she answered, “I shall be too 
busy.” 

“Why, Beth !” exclaimed Helen. 
“Shan’t you be able to get out at all?” 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


“Perhaps — later on. As soon as I J m 
able, I want some of my old friends to come 
here to tea.” 

“That is sweet of you,” answered Helen. 
“But of course we are very busy also; 
are n’t we, Jane?” 

“We are going to join a tennis class, 
nodded Jane. 

“I don’t see how you will find time for 
that,” murmured Elizabeth. 

The two girls moved rather hurriedly 
toward the door. They had intended to 
make Elizabeth uncomfortable, and, to tell 
the truth, they were becoming uncomfort- 
able themselves. They had never seen 
Elizabeth so cool and self-possessed. 

A groom was waiting outside, holding 
their horses. He touched his hat, and 
cantered to the door. The girls hastily 
mounted. 

“Good-by,” Elizabeth called to them as 
they started off. “You’ll tell every one 
the news, won’t you ?” 

126 


MY LADY RECEIVES 


She came in, and closed the door behind 
her with a vicious bang. 

“There !” she said to herself, “those are 
the last girls who get in here until this 
house is in order. They can say what they 
like, and I don’t care.” 

“Company gone?” inquired Mrs. 
Trumbull from up-stairs. 

“Those Brookfield girls have gone, if 
that’s what you mean,” replied Eliza- 
beth. 

Mrs. Trumbull came down. 

“I saw them galloping off with that 
monkey trailing along behind them,” she 
commented. 

“Before they go home, they ’ll visit half 
the girls in school and tell them I ’m liv- 
ing in a barn and doing my own work!” 
exclaimed Elizabeth. 

“What do you care?” asked Mrs. 
Trumbull. 

“I don’t care,” snapped Elizabeth. 


127 


VIII 


MY LADY RECEIVES AGAIN 

“TF I were you,” declared Mrs. Trum- 
JL bull that Saturday afternoon, “I ’d 
make some doughnuts to-day. It ’s time 
you learned how, and it will give us some- 
thing in the house for over Sunday.” 

Mrs. Trumbull had introduced the sub- 
ject of doughnuts several times before, but 
without much success. This time, how- 
ever, Elizabeth followed her, though 
somewhat reluctantly, into the kitchen and 
took down the yellow mixing bowl. She 
mixed the doughnuts a good deal after 
the fashion that she had built the first 
fire; she looked on until it was time to 
drop the little circles of dough into the 
fat. After Mrs. Trumbull had cooked 
128 


MY LADY RECEIVES AGAIN 


the first half-dozen, however, she turned 
the business wholly over to Elizabeth. It 
was a distinctly hot operation, and the lat- 
ter’s cheeks soon became a flaming red. 
Moreover, it was not easy to land the 
sticky circles in the smoking kettle without 
getting spattered. She improved with 
practice, until, finally, she did not jump 
back more than a few inches. 

“I declare!” exclaimed Mrs. Trumbull, 
as she studied the girl, dressed in a long, 
blue apron, and armed with a two-tined 
fork, “you look more like your ma this 
very minute than I Ve ever seen you 
look!” 

“I feel more like her than I Ve ever 
felt,” laughed Elizabeth. 

“Now that I remember it, your ma used 
to have a curl like yours that was always 
getting loose and hanging over one ear.” 

“I expect I look very untidy,” answered 
Elizabeth. “I ’m glad there ’s no one else 
here now to see me.” 

129 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


There was a knock at the door, and 
Elizabeth, thinking it the grocer, crossed 
the room and swung it open, the iron fork 
still in her hand. Before her, hat in 
hand, stood Roy Thornton. Tall and 
straight, dressed in a long automobile 
coat, his hands gauntleted in leather 
gloves, he stared in silence at Elizabeth, 
as much astonished as she was herself. 
There was not a boy in all the world she 
would not rather have seen at that mo- 
ment. Elizabeth shrank back in confu- 
sion, but he met her eyes frankly. Then 
he laughed with an open-hearted amuse- 
ment that, somehow, did not hurt. 

“I beg your pardon/’ he apologized. 
“I did n’t mean to intrude. I rapped at 
the front door, and then Helen Brookfield 
suggested I try this one.” 

“What do you want?” stammered 
Elizabeth, not very politely. 

“Mother and Helen have gone on in 
the machine to do some errands. They ’ll 
130 


MY LADY RECEIVES AGAIN 


soon be back,” he explained, “and we 
thought you might like to join us then in 
a little spin.” 

“Thank you,” Elizabeth managed to re- 
cover sufficiently to answer, “but I can’t.” 

“I did n’t know you were so busy,” he 
said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” 

“It is n’t your fault,” she answered. 

He peered into the kitchen. 

“My,” he said, “those doughnuts smell 
good !” 

The exclamation was so unaffected, so 
boyish, that Elizabeth’s embarrassment 
vanished at once. 

“They are my first,” she answered im- 
pulsively. “Would you like one?” 

“Would I!” he said, “I’m nearly 
starved !” 

“Will — will you come in?” 

He accepted the invitation instantly. 
Elizabeth stammered some sort of an in- 
troduction to Mrs. Trumbull, and Thorn- 
ton bowed as gallantly as to a lady in silks. 

131 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


Elizabeth handed him a fresh doughnut 
upon the end of her fork. He took a bite. 
She waited breathlessly. 

“Oh, say,” he cried, “but these are fine ! 
And you made them!” 

Seated on the corner of the kitchen 
table, Roy Thornton contentedly munched 
his doughnut. Elizabeth regarded with 
pride every mouthful that he swallowed. 

“I haven’t had a doughnut like this,” 
he said, “since Phil Harden, Bob Wen- 
ham, and I took a walking trip through 
the White Mountains. We used to stop 
at farm-houses, and buy milk and bread, 
and doughnuts like these. My, but they 
tasted good ! I wonder why you can’t get 
such things in the city.” 

“I can tell you,” answered Mrs. Trum- 
bull. “It ’s because city women don’t get 
up early enough in the morning.” 

“Maybe that ’s it,” he agreed. “Would 
you think me very impolite if I asked for 
another?” 


132 


MY LADY RECEIVES AGAIN 


“Lor, have all you want,” answered 
Mrs. Trumbull. “I pity a boy who 
does n’t live within reach of a doughnut 
jar.” 

He helped himself to a second one, 
which he ate with as much evident relish 
as the first. 

Elizabeth attempted, unobserved, to 
sweep back into place the curl which was 
hanging over her left ear. But it 
would n’t stay. Then she tried her best 
to think of some excuse which would al- 
low her to get out of the kitchen long 
enough to tidy up a bit. Thornton looked 
so immaculate, that he made the contrast 
with her own appearance even more 
marked. And yet she felt that he him- 
self was not making any such compari- 
son. Apparently he did not notice at all 
her gingham apron and her floury fin- 
gers. 

“I tell you what!” he exclaimed, when 
he had finished his second doughnut, “I 
133 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

guess I ’ll have to learn to make these 
things myself.” 

“It wouldn’t hurt you none,” declared 
Mrs. Trumbull. “If I had a boy, I ’d 
teach him to cook the same ’s I would a 
girl.” 

“I can make coffee and fry bacon,” he 
boasted. “Even that much comes in 
handy in the woods.” 

“I guess California would never have 
been settled, if the men who went West 
in ’49 had depended upon women to do 
their cooking for them,” declared Mrs. 
Trumbull. 

“You ’re right,” agreed Thornton, 
“and even our modern woodsmen know 
how to cook. I ’ll never forget the bis- 
cuits old Peter Cooley used to make. Can 
you make biscuits, too?” he inquired, 
turning to Elizabeth. 

“I made some this morning,” she an- 
swered proudly. 


134 


MY LADY RECEIVES AGAIN 


“I 'll bet they were good. Helen said 
you were going to live here right along 
now and keep house.” 

“Yes,” Elizabeth answered. 

“What luck ! It ’s like camping out !” 

There was something in the way he 
said this that made her feel that she really 
was lucky. He gave a color of romance 
to her position. 

“You make me feel as though summer 
vacation had come and I was tramping 
through the hills again,” he declared. 
“I ’d like to do some farm work. You 
don’t want to hire a man, do you?” he 
asked laughingly. 

“You might have Martin’s place, if he 
leaves,” she answered. 

“Martin? Isn’t he the grand duke 
who used to meet me at the door?” 

“Yes,” she chuckled, “but now he ’s the 
milkman. I have a cow, you know.” 

“A cow? And Martin is milking it? 
135 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

That ought to be a sight worth seeing. 
But, honestly, I wouldn’t mind doing 
even that.” 

“I guess you'd be a sight worth see- 
ing, if you tried it,” returned Elizabeth. 

Mrs. Trumbull began to worry about 
the rest of the doughnuts which were still 
to be fried. 

“You ’d better get the rest of your 
dough into the fat,” she suggested. 

Elizabeth could have dropped through 
the floor. It was one thing to let Roy 
Thornton see the finished product, and an- 
other to allow him to watch her actually 
at work. She began to wish he would 
take his departure. 

“Won’t the rest of the dough keep un- 
til to-morrow?” she asked. 

“Land, child, no. It would fall flatter 
than a pancake.” 

Elizabeth unwillingly crossed the room 
and cut out four more doughnuts. As she 
returned with them in the flat of her 
136 


MY LADY RECEIVES AGAIN 

hand, Roy sprang to his feet, throwing 
aside his gloves and long coat. 

“Oh, say!” he pleaded, “won’t you let 
me do one ?” 

“You ’ll get your clothes all spotted,” 
Mrs. Trumbull warned him. 

“I ’ll be careful,” he answered. 

He took a doughnut from Elizabeth, 
and started toward the hot fat with it. 
But Mrs. Trumbull stopped him. 

“Wait a minute,” she said. “If you ’re 
bound to do it, you must put on an apron 
first.” 

She whipped off Elizabeth’s blue ging- 
ham apron, and adjusted it about Roy’s 
neck. He stood very straight and stiff 
while she was doing it. You would have 
thought to look at him that he was under- 
going some sort of an operation. In the 
meanwhile, the doughnuts began to stick 
to his fingers, and the more he struggled 
the worse they stuck, until, in desperation, 
he held out his hands toward Elizabeth. 
137 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


“I ’m afraid I ’m making an awful mess 
of it,” he apologized. 

“That ’s because you did n’t flour your 
hands,” explained Mrs. Trumbull. 

She took a knife and scraped off the 
dough, and then led him to the bread 
board, while Elizabeth stood by, convulsed 
with laughter. 

“Now you begin again,” said Mrs. 
Trumbull. 

“It is n’t as easy as it looks, is it?” com- 
mented Thornton. 

Still he was not one to retreat after un- 
dertaking a task. He plunged his hands 
into the sifter full of flour, and washed 
them as vigorously as though he were 
using soap. 

“That ’s enough,” Mrs. Trumbull inter- 
rupted him. “Now lay the doughnut flat 
on your palm and just let it slide off into 
the fat.” 

He obeyed the first part of her instruc- 
tions, and crossed the room with his arm 

138 


MY LADY RECEIVES AGAIN 


outstretched, as though to balance the 
doughnut in his hand were some delicate 
feat of juggling. When he reached the 
kettle, he slanted down his hand, and the 
bit of dough rolled off and stuck the hot 
fat, much as a bullfrog flops into a pool. 
The result was that his hand was gener- 
ously spattered. But he didn’t wince. 
He took that to be part of the sport. 

“Now what do you do — poke it?” he 
inquired, as he watched it bob to the sur- 
face, after he had thought it gone forever. 

“You let it alone, and put in another,” 
answered Mrs. Trumbull. “And don’t 
drop it in as though it were a rock; let it 
go in slanting, as though you were div- 
ing.” 

“Oh, that ’s the trick !” he answered. 
“Well, now just you watch this one!” 

He lowered it carefully, worked it along 
toward the ends of his fingers, and let go 
of it at a slant. It slid in without making 
a ripple. 


139 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


“How’s that?” he asked Elizabeth, as 
eagerly as though he had accomplished an 
amazing high dive. 

“That ’s fine,” she complimented him. 
“Now, when they look brown in the mid- 
dle, you turn them over.” 

She did n’t wish to appear to be merely 
an interested bystander. She wished to 
show some knowledge of the art. She 
found the fork, and, standing by his side, 
watched with him the little floating cir- 
cles of dough as critically as though she 
were an expert. 

“Now!” she ordered. 

He seized the fork and turned them 
over. 

“How ’s that ?” he demanded. 

“Good,” answered Elizabeth. 

“Give me a little practice, and I ’ll bet 
I could even make them,” he declared ea- 
gerly. “When I get home — ” 

There was another rap at the kitchen 
door. All three turned in that direction. 

140 


MY LADY RECEIVES AGAIN 

“Jove!” exclaimed Thornton, “that’s 
Mother ! I forgot all about her.” 

Elizabeth could not have opened that 
door if it had been to save her life. As 
for Thornton, he was far too busy. Mrs. 
Trumbull solved the difficulty by going 
herself. When she swung the door open, 
she saw a woman of about fifty, and, peer- 
ing over the latter’s shoulder, the same 
young lady who had asked her to carry 
her card up-stairs. There was an awk- 
ward pause for a second, as Mrs. Trum- 
bull “Stared, somewhat aggressively, at the 
two. Then Thornton stepped forward. 
His mother showed some astonishment at 
finding him garbed in a blue gingham 
apron. As for Helen Brookfield, she 
could n’t believe her eyes. Her gaze was 
almost scornful. 

“Mrs. Trumbull, this is my mother and 
Miss Brookfield.” He introduced them 
without embarrassment. “Excuse me, 
Mother, but I can’t leave my doughnuts.” 
9 141 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


Elizabeth managed somehow to step 
forward, and invite the visitors to come 
in. 

“Well, Roy,” exclaimed Mrs. Thorn- 
ton, “what shall I find you doing next!” 

“Making biscuits,” answered Roy, with- 
out hesitation. “I ’m going to learn how 
to cook.” 

Mrs. Thornton seated herself in a 
wooden chair and watched the proceed- 
ings. It was surprise enough to find 
Elizabeth Churchill in the kitchen. 

As for Helen, she lifted her skirts with 
some ostentation as she came in, as if she 
feared to soil them on the kitchen floor. 

“It ’s my fault that Roy has kept you 
waiting,” Elizabeth apologized to Mrs. 
Thornton. “But I would n’t have let him 
in — if I ’d seen him first.” 

“I don’t wonder that he came in after 
seeing you,” chirped up Helen. “It ’s 
quite a curiosity to find you cooking, 
Beth.” 


142 


MY LADY RECEIVES AGAIN 


Mrs. Trumbull glanced up sharply. 

“I guess it ’s quite a curiosity to find 
girls of to-day doing anything useful,” she 
said. 

Mrs. Thornton raised her eyebrows 
with a smile, as she glanced at Elizabeth. 
It was a kindly smile, and took some of 
the sting out of Helen’s cutting remark. 

“I ’m sure there must be something at 
fault with the young girls, when the boys 
take to cooking,” observed Mrs. Thorn- 
ton, turning to Mrs. Trumbull. 

“Here, Beth,” Roy broke in, “see if 
these are ready to come out.” 

Elizabeth stepped to his side, and looked 
critically at the brown disks. 

“I — I guess they ’re done,” she stam- 
mered, turning for support to Mrs. Trum- 
bull. The latter nodded. 

Leaving Roy to wield the two-tined 
fork, Elizabeth hurried to the china closet 
and brought back some plates for her 
guests. Mrs. Thornton removed her 
143 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

gloves, and accepted one with murmured 
thanks, still watching her son. Then her 
eyes caught the design on the plate before 
her. 

“Why, Elizabeth !” she exclaimed. 
“Where in the world did you get this ?” 

“Oh,” apologized Elizabeth in confu- 
sion, “it ’s cracked, is n’t it? I did n’t no- 
tice. I haven’t had time yet to throw 
away the old ones.” 

“Throw them away !” gasped Mrs. 
Thornton. 

She was noting the marks on the back. 
The collecting of old china was a hobby of 
hers. 

“Why !” she exclaimed, looking up, 
“don’t you realize that, besides being very 
beautiful, this old plate is very valuable? 
It is one of the historical designs. You 
have n’t more of them, have you ?” 

“More !” answered Elizabeth ; “there ’s 
a whole closet full.” 

“It belonged to her great-grand- 
144 



Elizabeth looked critically at the brown disks 






MY LADY RECEIVES AGAIN 


mother,” explained Mrs. Trumbull. 
“And if I do say it, I ’d rather have it, 
cracked as it is, than a houseful of the 
stuff people buy to-day. ,, 

“I *d like very much to see the rest of it,” 
said Mrs. Thornton. 

“How’s your doughnut?” demanded 
Roy. 

Mrs. Thornton took a bite, and an- 
swered, absent-mindedly, “Very good, 
Roy.” 

But her eyes were turned wistfully to- 
ward the room from which the plate had 
been brought. Elizabeth trembled lest she 
might insist upon going in there. She 
would die of shame if Mrs. Thornton saw 
that room in its present condition. 

“I — I will get some others for you,” 
said Elizabeth. 

“Allow me,” begged Roy, following be- 
hind her. 

“No,” she refused quickly, “you tend to 
your cooking.” 


147 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


She disappeared and closed the door be- 
hind her. She seized a cup and saucer 
and three or four plates at random and 
ran back. She laid the plates carelessly 
on the table beside Mrs. Thornton. 

“Gently, child, gently !” exclaimed the 
latter. 

Helen stepped forward, feeling obliged 
to show some interest in a matter which 
seemed so to excite Roy’s mother. 

“They do look old, don’t they?” she 
murmured, in a tone that called attention 
to nothing but the nicks and cracks. 

“How beautifully they did everything 
a hundred years ago!” exclaimed Mrs. 
Thornton. “See the color, see the design 
around the edge !” 

She looked up with a little sigh. 

“My dear,” she said, “I envy you.” 

“Have you seen the new Limoges at 
Stratton’s?” inquired Helen. 

“Don’t mention Limoges in the same 
breath with this,” protested Mrs. Thorn- 
148 


MY LADY RECEIVES AGAIN 


ton. “There is n’t a dealer in New York 
who would n’t exchange a full set of that 
for a half-dozen of these plates.” 

“No, I suppose not,” Helen hastened to 
agree. “I suppose this is quite a curi- 
osity. Would they put it in a museum?” 

Mrs. Thornton rose without deigning to 
reply. She turned to Elizabeth. 

“You will show me the rest of it some 
day?” she pleaded. 

“Some day,” answered Elizabeth, 
quickly. 

Thornton removed his apron, and put 
on his long coat and gloves again. 

“I ’m sorry you can’t go with us,” he 
said, with evident sincerity, to Elizabeth. 
“But I ’ll come around some afternoon for 
both you and Mrs. Trumbull. May I?” 

“I don’t know about me,” answered 
Mrs. Trumbull. “I never rode in one of 
those things in my life.” 

“Then it ’s time you did,” laughed 
Thornton. 


149 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

In another minute they had all gone. 
Elizabeth sank into a chair. 

“Well,” she gasped, “what do you think 
of that?” 

“I liked the boy and his mother,” an- 
swered Mrs. Trumbull, who evidently saw 
nothing unusual in the fact that they had 
been received in the kitchen, “but I con- 
sider that Helen Brookfield a saucy little 
minx.” 

“It was she who sent them all in here. 
She did it on purpose,” explained Eliza- 
beth. 

“Much good it did her,” snapped Mrs. 
Trumbull. “And do you know, I don’t 
believe that boy gets enough to eat.” 


IX 


AN INVITATION 

B Y the end of that week, the little house 
by the lane was every whit as spot- 
less as The Towers, with its corps of serv- 
ants. The woodwork had been scrubbed, 
the closets cleaned out, all the china taken 
down, washed, and put back again, and 
the windows polished both inside and out. 
Martin had been allowed to help in this 
work, by special permission of Mr. 
Churchill, and Mrs. Trumbull had helped 
without his permission. She told him 
frankly that she could n't sit still, with her 
hands folded, when anything like this was 
going on. During this campaign, Eliza- 
beth also attended to her regular duties. 
A week before, this would have seemed to 
I5i 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


her an utter impossibility; and yet, though 
she had gone to bed every night at half- 
past seven thoroughly tired out, she was 
not conscious of having made any great 
effort. She always slept soundly until 
daylight, and, before she knew it, bedtime 
had come again. The days had never 
sped so swiftly. It was as though the 
twenty-four hours had suddenly been 
shortened to twelve. She had no time to 
pause and ask herself whether she was 
working hard or not. She had no time 
to pause and wonder what the Brook- 
field girls would think of her. And, 
strange to say, she had never in her life 
felt more light-hearted, and often found 
herself singing as she went about the 
house. 

On Sunday morning, her father took 
both her and Mrs. Trumbull to church. 
After the service, he surprised them with 
an invitation to dinner, but this did not 
excite Elizabeth as much as one might 
152 


AN INVITATION 


have expected. She had already planned 
her own dinner, and, in fact, had set the 
table that morning before leaving. A 
certain amount of pride entered into the 
matter also. She refused to allow her fa- 
ther to consider such an invitation as an 
especial favor. 

She held her head a little higher than 
usual as she answered, “Thank you, 
Daddy, but I don't think I shall be able to 
come to-day." 

It was Mr. Churchill's turn to be sur- 
prised. He glanced at her swiftly with 
something like a frown. Elizabeth 
flushed. Mrs. Trumbull watched the two 
with interest. The latter had realized 
clearly enough during this last week, that 
in rousing the mother's energy in the 
daughter, the father was also awakening 
some of her other traits. 

Mr. Churchill studied his daughter 
keenly for a second, and then he could not 
help but smile, while his eyes twinkled. 

153 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

“Very well, if you think it best ,” he an- 
swered quietly. 

Elizabeth hesitated a moment, in fear 
now that she had hurt him. Then she 
said, gently slipping her hand in his : 

“When I am settled, Daddy, I shall have 
more time.” 

Her father turned to Mrs. Trumbull, 
whose eyes were sparkling with uncon- 
cealed delight. Once again the shadow 
of a smile played about Mr. Churchiirs 
tense lips, and he turned away. 

During the week, the garden had been 
plowed and harrowed and dressed. On 
Monday, Martin announced that he ought 
to begin planting early that morning. 

“Mr. Churchill has sent down all kinds 
of seeds, miss,” he explained, “but he said 
you would tell me what we should plant.” 

“Plant them all,” Elizabeth decided in- 
stantly. 

“Lor, it would take a ten-acre field to 
do that,” answered Martin. 

154 


AN INVITATION 


“Well,” said Elizabeth, “I shall be very 
busy to-day. Can you wait until after- 
noon ?” 

Martin answered that he could. 

Immediately after luncheon, she found 
him waiting for her. She put on a sunbon- 
net and an old pair of gloves, and followed 
him to the big square of upturned earth. 
Mrs. Trumbull went with them. Martin 
had a small basket filled with packages 
and bags. Each little envelop had a col- 
ored print upon it of the succulent and 
tempting vegetable which was supposed to 
grow from the seeds it contained. But 
Elizabeth shook her head wisely as she 
looked them over. 

“I J ve seen pictures like these in the 
cook-book,” she commented. “They 
don't really come out this way, you know.” 

“The land is very rich,” put in Martin, 
who, with greater experience, had more 
faith than she. 

“You will learn, Martin,” she returned, 
155 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


with a very superior air. “Now what do 
you want me to do ?” 

“If you ’ll just tell me what you want 
planted/’ he answered, as though that was 
all she need have to do with it. 

“I ’d try a little of everything,” she de- 
clared. 

But here Mrs. Trumbull came up with 
the wisdom of experience gained through 
many years. 

“You want to plant mostly corn, for 
your chickens and the cow,” she advised. 

“But this garden is n’t for the barn- 
yard,” protested Elizabeth. 

“There ’ll be enough left over for us,” 
Mrs. Trumbull explained. “We ’ll get 
most of it back, anyway, in eggs and milk. 
I ’d sow half of this piece, anyhow, in 
corn.” 

“All right,” agreed Elizabeth. 

“Then you want a good patch of pota- 
toes.” 


AN INVITATION 

“Of course! I ought to have thought 
of that!” 

“Then you can save one corner for gar- 
den sass.” 

“What is 'garden sass’ ?” inquired Eliz- 
abeth. 

“Peas and beans and lettuce and 
radishes and such stuff.” 

And so, in less than ten minutes, Mrs. 
Trumbull had the field all planned out, 
and Martin, with his hoe, had gone to the 
farther side to make the hills for the corn. 

“Why don’t you plant the garden sass 
yourself, and have it for all your own?” 
asked Mrs. Trumbull. 

“I don’t know how,” confessed Eliza- 
beth, who was beginning to feel ashamed 
at the number of times she had to admit 
her ignorance to Mrs. Trumbull. This 
new idea rather pleased her. She had al- 
ways been fond of caring for the flowers 
in the conservatory, though about all she 

157 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


ever did was to pick off the dead leaves 
and notify the gardener when she found 
any bugs. 

“Lor, child ! it ’s easy enough/’ said 
Mrs. Trumbull. “Pick up that rake and 
trowel, and we ’ll do it now.” 

Elizabeth took the rake, and, while 
Martin busied himself upon the farther 
end of the field, they prepared the ground 
in the corner. She raked it smooth, and 
then, with the handle, made little furrows, 
not over an inch deep, and about three 
feet long. Mrs. Trumbull tore ofif an end 
of the radish envelop and sprinkled the 
tiny seeds lightly into one of the open fur- 
rows. 

“There!” exclaimed Elizabeth, as she 
caught sight of the hard specks which 
weren’t much larger than pinheads, “I 
told you the pictures fibbed.” 

“What do you mean, child?” inquired 
Mrs. Trumbull. 

“Look at the radishes on the outside, 
158 


AN INVITATION 

and then look at these things/’ said Eliza- 
beth. 

“You didn’t expect to find the envelop 
full of radishes all grown, did you?” de- 
manded Mrs. Trumbull. “These are 
seeds.” 

“I know. But do you expect they’ll 
grow as big as the pictures ?” 

“Of course they will. Now cover them 
up. Don’t press them down hard, but 
just cover them with dirt and pat it down 
lightly.” 

Elizabeth obeyed, and had just finished 
one row, when she heard a voice. 

“Have you turned farmer as well as 
cook?” 

She glanced up. Her cheeks instantly 
turned a deep crimson. There stood Roy 
Thornton, looking as spick-and-span as 
usual. And she was down on her knees 
in an old dress and was wearing a pair 
of gloves well soiled with dirt. Further- 
more, she had an uncomfortable feeling 
10 159 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


that, in brushing back her hair, she had 
smudged her face. 

“ Howdy, Roy,” Mrs. Trumbull greeted 
him. 

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Trumbull,” he 
said, smiling back at her. 

Elizabeth sprang to her feet, and looked 
about to see if the Brookfield girls were 
in sight. If she saw them, she made up 
her mind, she would run. But apparently 
Roy was alone. He stood hat in hand, 
his sandy hair looking almost golden in 
the sunlight. It was in far better order 
than her own. 

“I was planting some radishes,” she in- 
formed him. 

“I s’pose your garden is all planted?” 
said Mrs. Trumbull. 

“I have n’t any,” he answered. 

He was uncomfortable at being forced 
to make the confession. Mrs. Trumbull 
stared at him in a way that made him 
realize he had dropped a peg in her esti- 
160 


AN INVITATION 

mation. She looked at these old-fash- 
ioned duties of a man as so much a 
matter of course, that it seemed like an ad- 
mission of weakness not to live up to them. 
Moreover, he seemed to care more for her 
good opinion than that of any woman he 
had met for a long time. 

“You see,” he explained, “we have n’t 
any place for a garden at our house.” 

Mrs. Trumbull instantly grew sympa- 
thetic. She had very often heard about 
city people who were so poor that a dozen 
or more families had to live cooped up in 
one house, and she pitied them. 

“Well, I ’m sorry for you,” declared 
Mrs. Trumbull. 

“It makes me sorry for myself when I 
see all the fun you and Beth are having 
here,” answered Roy. 

Elizabeth made a motion as though to 
return to the house. 

“Are you all through?” he asked wist- 
fully. 

161 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

“Martin is to do the rest,” answered 
Elizabeth ; “we were only planting the gar- 
den sauce.” 

“Are you all through with that?” 

“I think so. See, there is a row of rad- 
ishes.” 

“Lor, child!” broke in Mrs. Trumbull, 
“you have only begun! You haven't 
touched your lettuce and beets and turnips 
and squash.” 

“Good! Would you let me help a lit- 
tle?” he pleaded. 

“I thought we might go back to the 
house,” suggested Elizabeth, uncertainly. 

She knew her front room was immacu- 
late, and, after having received him in the 
kitchen, she wished to show him that. But 
he insisted that it was too fair a day to 
go indoors, and that he would never dare 
to call if he felt that he always interrupted 
her. Besides, he wished to learn some- 
thing about making a garden. 

“You know,” he explained to Mrs. 

162 


AN INVITATION 


Trumbull, “if ever I make any money, I ’m 
going to live on a farm. I ’m tired of 
apartments. I want elbow room.” 

“That ’s a good idea !” exclaimed Mrs. 
Trumbull, heartily. “I ’m glad to show 
a boy who talks that way how to do things. 
Now you just take hold of that rake, and 
we ’ll have these seeds planted in a 

jiffy” 

Roy eagerly seized the rake, and, while 
Elizabeth looked on, made the rest of the 
furrows. He worked for an hour, appar- 
ently enjoying every minute of the time. 
He chattered on about one thing and an- 
other, and kept both Elizabeth and Mrs. 
Trumbull laughing at his remarks. He 
covered himself with dirt from head to 
foot, which had the effect of making Eliza- 
beth feel decidedly more comfortable. 
When, finally, he acquired a broad smudge 
on one cheek, she felt quite at ease about 
her own appearance. She protested once 
or twice that it was n’t fair to allow him 
163 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


to plant everything, but he refused to stop 
until the last seed was in the ground. 

When Martin came back from his end 
of the field, he was amazed at what had 
been accomplished. 

“If I may say it,” he remarked, “you 
are a very fast worker, miss.” 

“Oh,” she laughed, “I don’t deserve the 
credit for this. Mr. Thornton did it.” 

“But the ladies deserve the credit for 
it, just the same,” answered Thornton, 
gallantly. “I only obeyed orders.” 

Martin quite agreed, but he only bowed 
deferentially. 

“I dare say he would like a chance to 
wash his hands and brush his clothes,” 
said Mrs. Trumbull. “Maybe, too, he 
could eat a doughnut.” 

“Doughnut!” exclaimed Thornton. “I 
guess I could!” 

Elizabeth escorted him to the front of 
the house and into the immaculate sitting- 
room, but they had no sooner entered it, 
164 



Roy made the rest of the furrows 








AN INVITATION 

than Mrs. Trumbull bade him follow her 
into the kitchen, where he could wash his 
hands. Before Elizabeth could protest, 
he was out of the room, and the next 
minute was plashing in the tin wash-basin 
in the sink. He dried his face and hands 
unconcernedly on the roller-towel. Eliza- 
beth was vexed that he had found his way 
to the kitchen again. She had planned to 
serve his doughnuts on a china plate with 
a napkin, in the sitting-room. Instead of 
that, Mrs. Trumbull calmly handed him 
the doughnut jar, and bade him help him- 
self. He did not appear to be at all dis- 
turbed, but Elizabeth bit her lips with vex- 
ation. The next second, however, he 
startled her with an invitation that drove 
everything else from her thoughts. 

“I almost forgot what I came down here 
for,” he said. “I want you and Mrs. 
Trumbull to be my guests at the Donning- 
ton game.” 

Elizabeth caught her breath. If there 
167 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

was one honor more prized than another 
by the girls of Miss Grimshawe’s school, 
it was to receive an invitation to this, the 
chief base-ball game of the season. It 
was a still greater honor to be asked by 
a member of the team, and to be asked by 
the captain, conferred distinction for the 
rest of the year. It had come to be an 
unwritten law that the captain should ask 
but one girl outside his own family, and 
Elizabeth knew that Helen Brookfield con- 
fidently expected the invitation. She re- 
membered hearing her discuss what she 
should wear to the game. 

As this last fact flashed through her 
mind, it brought her up with a sharp pang. 
She had nothing to wear. Her father 
might make a concession on such an occa- 
sion as this, but she would never ask him. 
She brought her lips together. She de- 
termined instantly to thrust the whole 
matter from her mind. 

1 68 


AN INVITATION 


“It is very kind of you,” she answered 
with an effort, “but I — I can’t accept” 

“Oh, look here, Beth !” protested Roy. 

“I can’t,” she stammered. “Really I — 
I can’t.” 

Roy turned to Mrs. Trumbull. 

“Mayn’t she?” he asked. 

“Lor, I don’t see any reason why she 
shouldn’t go!” answered Mrs. Trumbull. 

“There,” said Roy, turning again to 
Elizabeth. “Of course you ’ll come. 
Mother will call in the machine and pick 
you up. You must come, Beth.” 

Elizabeth did not dare trust herself to 
open her mouth, but she resolutely shook 
her head. 

“Why do you do that, Beth?” he asked 
anxiously. 

“Because — oh, please don’t ask me any- 
thing more.” 

Her eyes were beginning to fill in spite 
of herself. Roy picked up his hat and 
turned to leave. 


169 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


“Don’t decide now,” he pleaded. “I ’ll 
come around in a day or two and see you 
again.” 

Elizabeth did not answer, and he hur- 
ried out, completely mystified. As soon 
as the door closed behind him, Elizabeth 
hid her face in her hands and began to 
sob. Mrs. Trumbull stole up and placed 
her arms about the girl. 

“What is it, deary ?” she asked. 

“Oh, I — I want to go!” sobbed Eliza- 
beth. 

“Then why in the world don't you go ?” 

“I c-can’t. I have n’t any new gown to 
wear !” 

“Is that all?” answered Mrs. Trumbull 
in relief. # “Well, I guess your father will 
tend to that.” 

Elizabeth drew herself free. 

“No,” slue declared. “I won’t ask 
him!” 

Mrs. Tyumbull thought a moment. 

“When is this game?” she inquired. 

170 


AN INVITATION 

“Next Saturday,” answered Elizabeth. 

“Why, then we Ve plenty of time. 
We ’ll make something for you to wear.” 

“Make a dress? What in the world 
will we make it of?” asked Elizabeth. 
“My last gown cost sixty dollars.” 

“Sixty dollars!” exclaimed Mrs. Trum- 
bull, with a gasp. Then, suddenly, she 
seemed to have an inspiration. She 
thought a moment and asked, 

“Beth, have you been up in the attic 
yet?” 

Elizabeth shook her head. 

“Do you know, I believe some of your 
mother’s dresses are packed away there ?” 

“What of it?” asked Elizabeth indiffer- 
ently. 

“You ’re just about your ma’s size.” 

“But—” 

“I ’ll go up there and see. If they are 
what I remember, I reckon you ’ll go to 
that game!” 

Elizabeth watched Mrs. Trumbull dis- 
171 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

appear up the attic stairs without daring 
to believe that any such good fortune 
awaited her. She feared that a costume 
that Mrs. Trumbull herself might consider 
suitable would, as a matter of fact, turn 
out to be impossible. It did not seem 
probable that clothes of fifteen years ago 
could be altered to conform to the style of 
to-day. 

And yet she had come to have a tre- 
mendous amount of faith in Mrs. Trum- 
bull. 

In an attempt to forget the whole inci- 
dent, Elizabeth busied herself about the 
room until she heard Mrs. Trumbull com- 
ing down the stairs again. When the lat- 
ter appeared, she was carrying over her 
arm a gown of dainty lawn covered with 
a delicate rose pattern. In delight, tem- 
pered with reverence, Elizabeth took it to 
the window. The sleeves were short and 
small. The skirt, a little full, had an over- 
skirt trimmed with a broad band of pink. 

1 72 


AN INVITATION 

“Why,” exclaimed Elizabeth, “this is 
exactly the way Helen said she was going 
to have her new dress made! It is what 
people are wearing now.” 

Mrs. Trumbull laughed. 

“I Ve often said that so long as I did n’t 
change the cut of my clothes, I was bound 
to be in style once in a quarter of a cen- 
tury anyhow.” 

Elizabeth shook out the wrinkles and 
held the skirt to her waist. It just cleared 
the floor. If it had been made for her, the 
length could have been no better. The 
waist measure, too, seemed to be her own. 

“If you were twins, you could n’t be 
more of a size,” commented Mrs. Trum- 
bull. 

“Oh, it ’s really lovely !” Elizabeth cried 
excitedly. “It ’s all hand-made ! And look 
at this lace !” 

“It ’s real old lace!” Mrs. Trumbull as- 
sured her. “Your grandmother gave it to 
her, I remember.” 


173 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

“And they are wearing the sleeves small 
and short, and — do you think it will really 
fit me?” 

“Slip it on,” suggested Mrs. Trumbull. 

Elizabeth was out of her waist in no 
time and into the other. 

“Land sakes!” gasped Mrs. Trumbull, 
as Elizabeth buttoned the dress. “I ’m 
glad your father is n’t here now.” 

“Why?” 

“He would n’t believe his eyes ! It ’s 
your ma, to the life, standing there.” 

“Does n’t it fit nicely?” 

Mrs. Trumbull examined the costume 
critically. With a few slight alterations, 
it would fit Elizabeth as though made for 
her. It was close enough to the prevail- 
ing fashion not to appear odd, and, be- 
sides, it had a quaint, old-fashioned air 
which distinguished both the gown and the 
wearer. 

Mrs. Trumbull started again toward the 
attic, as though with a fresh inspiration. 
174 


AN INVITATION 


“Stand where you are !” she called back. 

She returned at once with a poke-bon- 
net trimmed with pink, which looked for 
all the world like one of the very latest 
automobile bonnets. Elizabeth put on this, 
and tied the ribbons beneath her chin. 

She certainly made a pretty picture, and 
Mrs. Trumbull was enthusiastic. 

“My dear,” she exclaimed, “I never did 
think I ’d ride in an automobile at my age, 
or look on at a base-ball game, but I de- 
clare I will, just to sit beside you !” 


175 


X 


THE DONNINGTON GAME 

E LIZABETH at once wrote her ac- 
ceptance, and the next day Roy called 
to express his delight and to hand her a 
very cordial note from his mother. 

Elizabeth passed the rest of the week 
in happy confusion. With the assistance 
of a local dressmaker, the gown was let 
out here and taken in there, until it fitted 
perfectly. When this was finally com- 
pleted, it seemed to Elizabeth that Satur- 
day would never come in spite of the many 
things about the house she had to occupy 
her. She couldn’t explain her present 
excitement, because this was not the first 
time she had been to the Donnington 
game. Nor could she account for her ea- 
176 


THE DONNINGTON GAME 


gerness altogether in the fact that she was 
going as the guest of the captain. 
Neither did her gown account for it. She 
felt rather as though she were some new 
Elizabeth going out for the first time. Be- 
fore now she had always been Elizabeth 
of The Towers, who was only Mr. Spencer 
Churchill’s daughter. But she who was 
going this afternoon was Elizabeth 
Churchill. She was going from her own 
home, in her own gown, and on her own 
merits. This gave her a sense of respon- 
sibility and of importance, too. 

On Saturday morning, she flew around 
and finished her cooking, and called Mar- 
tin to tell him that he must watch the 
baked beans while she was gone. The lat- 
ter fidgeted uneasily at this announce- 
ment. 

“I don’t know much about that work, as 
you might say,” he warned her. 

“Why, there is n’t anything you have 
to know/’ answered Elizabeth, lightly. 
11 177 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

“You must just keep the fire going, and see 
that the water does n’t dry out. You must 
fill up the pot about every half hour.” 

Martin took out his watch. 

“Every thirty minutes, miss?” He 
nodded as seriously as though he felt if he 
ran over a second, the world would come 
to an end. 

“About every thirty minutes,” answered 
Elizabeth. “But you won’t have to sit 
there watch in hand.” 

“Very well, miss,” answered Martin, 
with a deep sigh. 

By one o’clock, Elizabeth was all 
dressed, and was fussing over Mrs. Trum- 
bull, trying to make her look as nice as 
possible. The latter had refused flatly to 
have her hair curled, or to wear a bit of 
ribbon around her throat, so that, after all, 
there was n’t very much Elizabeth could 
do. However, Mrs. Trumbull was very 
neat and trim, even if she did n’t look sty- 
lish. 


178 


THE DONNINGTON GAME 


At two o’clock promptly, the big tour- 
ing-car drove into the yard, and Elizabeth, 
with her heart in her mouth, stepped out 
to meet Mrs. Thornton. She felt that the 
latter’s kindly eyes would decide instantly 
the success or failure of her new costume. 
She did not have to wait long for a ver- 
dict. Mrs. Thornton leaned forward, 
with her hand outstretched. 

“Why, you picture !” she exclaimed 
smilingly. 

The warm blood rushed to Elizabeth’s 
cheeks. 

“This is my mother’s gown,” she ex- 
plained simply. 

“It is so beautiful! And the bonnet — 
you’ll forgive me for commenting so? 
But Elizabeth — you look like a combination 
of Paris and Plymouth Rock. It ’s the 
quaintest and prettiest dress I ’ve seen this 
year! Do stand off a little, and let me 
look at you.” 

“Are n’t you proud of her, Mrs. Trum- 
179 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


bull?” she demanded, as Elizabeth 
obeyed. 

“She looks exactly like her mother,” an- 
swered Mrs. Trumbull. 

As they reached the grounds and made 
their way to their seats in the grand stand, 
Mrs. Thornton overheard many a sup- 
pressed exclamation of pleasure as her 
young companion passed. And as Eliza- 
beth took her place and looked about her, 
she found herself responding to nods and 
greetings here and there as she recognized 
one or another of her schoolmates. Roy 
came running across the field from where 
he was directing his men in preliminary 
practice. Every one watched him as he 
advanced to the grand stand to greet his 
guests, but no one more sharply than the 
Brookfield girls, who sat near. 

“As this is your first game, Mrs. Trum- 
bull,” Roy said, as he shook hands with 
the latter, “we ’ll have to play our best for 
you.” 

180 


THE DONNINGTON GAME 

Then he turned to Elizabeth with frank 
enthusiasm. 

“Why, Beth!” he exclaimed. “You 
look so stunning, that we ’ll have to win 
for you !” 

She felt curiously at her ease as he stood 
before her. 

“Of course you ’ll win,” she smiled. 

“Don’t forget that Harden is in the box 
for the Donningtons,” he answered seri- 
ously; “and that Wenham is a wonder at 
the bat.” 

With a few more words he left, and 
went back to the field. The game was soon 
called, and then all other matters, except 
the contest itself, were forgotten — at least 
by Elizabeth. She lost herself at once, as 
she always did, in the nip-and-tuck battle 
which was being waged on the green dia- 
mond in front of her. 

For three innings neither side scored, 
and then Wenham knocked a grounder be- 
tween second and third. He was famous 
181 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

for those. He never struck hard at a ball, 
but he had the knack of “placing” it quite 
often. He made first, and at the next 
pitch stole second. Then Harden made a 
two-base hit, which brought Wenham 
home. So the score stood until the eighth 
inning. 

Harden was pitching a magnificent 
game, and though Thornton’s pitcher was 
not doing so well, his team, by fast field- 
ing, was able to ofifset this weakness. 

In the first half of the eighth, Thornton 
saw one of his men land on second after 
a two-base hit. A sacrifice hit sent the 
man to third, and then he himself came to 
the bat. He realized that here was his 
opportunity. Half unconsciously as he 
stepped to the plate, he glanced toward his 
mother. He was always sure of finding 
her eyes upon him. This time he caught 
an encouraging wave of her hand. He 
saw not only this, but the slight figure of 
the girl next to her leaning forward ex- 
182 



A nip-and-tuck battle was being waged on the diamond 




THE DONNINGTON GAME 

pectantly. There was something about 
the tilt of the little poke-bonnet that made 
him wish very much to bring in that 
run. 

He faced Harden with every line in 
his face expressing determination. But 
every line in Harden’s face also expressed 
determination. Chums though they were 
at home, on the ball-field they were grim 
antagonists. Thornton caught the yell of 
his schoolmates, who rose to their feet to 
spur him on to make the most of this 
chance, but the yell was interrupted by 
an equally noisy cry from the Donnington 
supporters. So far as Thornton was con- 
cerned, he was playing now to the earnest 
quiet eyes of his mother, and to a little 
poke-bonnet. 

Harden pitched his first ball high and 
wide. Thornton allowed it to pass, but 
it clipped the corner of the plate, and the 
umpire called one strike. Because of this, 
Thornton swung at the second, though it 

185 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

came in a still wider curve. He missed it. 
He kept his head, however, and did not 
offer at the next two. The fifth ball was 
a swift inshoot, but Thornton saw it break 
in time to swing. It shot from his bat like 
a bullet, in a low-line drive between first 
and second. With the roar of five hun- 
dred people in his ears, he made first and 
swung around in time to see his man slid- 
ing safely for home. 

The score was now tied. But Thorn- 
ton knew that the men following him were 
weak at the bat. He stole a dangerously 
long distance off first. Harden swung 
suddenly and sent the ball to the first base- 
man. At the motion, Thornton sprang 
for second. As he neared it, he saw that 
the ball had beaten him. He was trapped. 
He turned, and Harden’s whole team 
seemed to close in upon him. Still he did 
not give up hope, but darted back and 
forth in the hope that an error might give 
him his opportunity. And that is just 
1 86 


THE DONNINGTON GAME 

what happened. The short-stop, becom- 
ing excited, made a wild throw to Harden, 
and though the latter jumped high for it, 
he could not hold the ball. It rolled from 
his glove to the ground, and gave Thorn- 
ton time to get safely to second. The next 
man at the bat drove a deep fly to center, 
which the fielder failed to capture. 
Thornton, who had paused close to third, 
made a dash for home as he saw the muff, 
and by a clever slide, beat out the ball at 
the plate by a fraction of a second. 

As he rose, covered with dust, he heard 
a chorus of ringing cheers ending with his 
name. He raised his eyes to the grand 
stand, and saw Elizabeth standing up, 
with Mrs. Trumbull beside her, both wav- 
ing handkerchiefs wildly. He smiled, and 
took his place on the players’ bench. 

This was practically the end of the 
game, and the score ended two to one. 
As the crowd in the grand stand began to 
break up, a number of Elizabeth’s school 

187 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


friends came to greet her, among them the 
Brookfield girls. 

“You gave yourself an afternoon off?” 
asked Helen, sweetly, at the first pause 
that occurred. 

“Yes,” answered Elizabeth. “Though 
I don't know what has happened to my 
dinner in the meantime.” 

“It must be very hard to be maid and 
mistress too, mustn't it, Helen?” asked 
Jane. 

“It 's simpler in some ways than having 
maids,” replied Elizabeth, good-naturedly. 
“If things go wrong, you have only your- 
self to blame.” 

Mrs. Thornton, who had been nodding 
to some of her friends, caught this sen- 
tence. 

“I quite agree with you, Elizabeth,” she 
put in. 

Both Helen and Jane lingered a few mo- 
ments longer, but soon found themselves, 
in some way, on the outside of the gen- 
188 


THE DONNINGTON GAME 


eral talk, and, with a half-hearted smile, 
rejoined their friends. They were all 
moving toward the exit, and here they 
were met by Roy, who brought with him 
Nance Barton and her mother, whom he 
had chanced upon as they were leaving. 

There was a moment of embarrassment 
after greetings were exchanged, and 
Nance and Elizabeth were left together. 
Each girl was a little uncertain as to just 
what attitude the other intended to as- 
sume, for they had not met since the tennis 
game. For a second, Elizabeth was swept 
back to that day, and forgot many things 
she had learned since then. She tossed up 
her head aggressively in the old way that 
was almost a challenge. The effect of this 
was to rouse in Nance an equally defiant 
mood, and so they stood, inwardly friends, 
but outwardly constrained. 

Roy turned, and seemed at a glance to 
understand the situation. He spoke to 
Nance. 

189 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

“You ought to taste some of Beth’s 
doughnuts,” he laughed. “You don’t 
know what a fine cook she is getting to 
be.” 

“Beth — a cook?” exclaimed Nance. 

The exclamation came with such frank 
surprise that Elizabeth herself laughed. 

“And so is Roy,” she nodded. 

“Oh, I ’m only the first assistant,” re- 
plied Roy. 

He turned back to Mrs. Trumbull, and 
left the two together again. Nance im- 
pulsively placed her hand on Elizabeth’s 
arm. 

“Beth,” she said, “may I call and see 
you — soon ? I ought to be ashamed to ask 
it, but I ’d be more ashamed if I waited 
any longer.” 

“You needn’t feel ashamed for calling 
or — for not calling,” Elizabeth answered 
quietly. 

“Then I may come?” 

190 


THE DONNINGTON GAME 


“1 wish you would, Nance! I should 
love to see you !” 

With a smile and a wave of her hand, 
Nance, with her mother, turned away as 
the group broke up, and a few minutes 
later, Beth and her own party were also 
on their way home. 


XI 


A GOOD-BY CALL 

O NE morning a week later, Martin 
came in with the excited announce- 
ment, “They ’re up !” 

“Who ’s up?” inquired Elizabeth. 

“The radishes, and lettuce, and peas, 
and corn.” 

“They are !” exclaimed Elizabeth. 
“Then I needn’t worry any more about 
my dinner. I will have a salad and some 
green peas.” 

“Lors !” said Martin, “they ain’t up that 
much. They ’re just peeking out o’ the 
ground.” 

“Oh, dear!” sighed Elizabeth. “Then 
they won’t be ready to eat for a long 
time.” 


192 


A GOOD-BY CALL 


“Not for days and days,” said Martin. 

“Can’t you hurry them along?” she 
asked. 

Martin suppressed a smile. 

“They have to take their time about 
growing, just as you and I do,” he an- 
swered. 

“When do you think they will be 
ready ?” 

“Lors ! you ’ll have radishes in a month.” 

“Very well,” she replied magnani- 
mously, “if that ’s the best you can do.” 

“Would you like to see them?” he asked, 
with some pride. 

“I will come out as soon as I ’ve finished 
my morning’s work,” she answered as 
she turned away. 

It was already beginning to be easy for 
her to prepare the early breakfast. There 
was a certain amount of excitement about 
this mixing of various dishes, sliding 
them into the oven, and seeing what re- 
sulted from the baking. It still seemed 

193 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


to her more like some mysterious trick 
than a science. 

A great many things had seemed easier 
since the ball game. She found herself 
going gaily about her tasks. Roy’s kind- 
ness, the friendliness of Nance, and the 
sight of her schoolmates, all helped to put 
her in a better frame of mind. She began 
to realize that if her friends had not called 
upon her, it was perhaps her own fault. 
She had certainly not been very cordial 
to those who had come. 

Roy had already called twice at the lit- 
tle cottage since the game. He took such 
an interest in whatever she happened to 
be doing, that he always left her with the 
feeling that she was upon some great ad- 
venture. Mrs. Trumbull had told of how 
her grandmother had gone over the plains 
with the early pioneers, and of the hard- 
ships and privations she had endured. Of 
course what she was doing could not be 
compared with that, and yet Roy made her 
194 


A GOOD-BY CALL 

feel that, in a small way, she was doing 
something similar. 

“What are you thinking of?” inquired 
Mrs. Trumbull, this morning, as she no- 
ticed the girl’s abstraction. 

Elizabeth laughed. 

“Martin wanted me to look at the gar- 
den,” she answered, seizing the first ex- 
cuse she could think of to escape further 
questioning. “Do you want to come ?” 

“No. Run along and I ’ll go up-stairs 
and put my room to rights.” 

Elizabeth hurried out, still wearing her 
gingham apron. She found the brown 
earth alive with tiny sprouts, but she 
could not tell which were weeds and which 
were vegetables. She pulled up a few, 
but was still no wiser. As she looked 
around for Martin, she heard the sound 
of horse’s hoofs upon the grass, and saw 
Helen Brookfield galloping toward her. 

Had it been possible, she would have re- 
treated, but there was nothing to do under 
12 195 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


the circumstances but to look up and 
smile as the latter drew rein. It was evi- 
dent from the expression in Helen’s bright 
eyes, that she was charged with excite- 
ment of some sort. 

“I ’ve just come over to say good-by, 
Beth,” she began eagerly. “I ’m going 
away next week.” 

“Really?” Elizabeth replied with inter- 
est. 

“It ’s so grand and sudden, that I can’t 
realize it yet. We — we are going to Eu- 
rope for the summer.” 

“To Europe?” echoed Elizabeth. 

“Yes. Father has to go on business, 
and decided at the last moment to take us 
with him.” 

She uptilted her head a trifle. 

“Why, that ’s really fine, Helen,” an- 
swered Elizabeth. 

“I will send you picture postals so that 
you ’ll know where we are,” said Helen, 
with great condescension. “I ’m afraid 
196 


A GOOD-BY CALL 


it will be lonely for you here this summer. 
Is this your flower garden ?” 

“No/’ answered Elizabeth, “it ’s my 
vegetable garden.” 

“Really?” returned Helen, with a lift 
of her eyebrows. “And you planted it 
yourself ?” 

“With some help,” nodded Elizabeth. 
“Martin helped, and Mrs. Trumbull 
helped, and Roy helped — a kind of co- 
operative garden, you see.” 

“Roy ? I think that very nice of him,” 
she answered. “He is so tender- 
hearted !” 

“What has that to do with it?” de- 
manded Elizabeth. 

“Oh, nothing, only — well, I suppose he 
can’t help pitying you.” 

“Pity? Me?” cried Elizabeth. 

“Of course we all do,” Helen hastened 
to add. “But perhaps in the fall you can 
come back to school, though I suppose 
you ’ll have to go into a lower class.” 

197 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


Elizabeth murmured something, she 
hardly knew what. For a moment, she 
felt ashamed and humiliated under the 
sting of being pitied. The heart went out 
of her, and she felt more like crying than 
doing anything else. She heard Helen 
say good-by and heard her gallop off, and 
then she turned back slowly toward the 
house. 

The cruel part of this new point of view 
was that it came at just the moment when 
Elizabeth had ceased pitying herself. 
Even now she felt no trace of self-pity. 
And now to be pitied by others — even by 
Roy — destroyed at a single blow all the 
romance of her adventure. 

She knew, to be sure, that Helen’s re- 
marks were always to be taken with a 
grain of salt, but, in this case, she felt 
there was a certain basis for them. Re- 
viewing the incidents since Roy’s first visit, 
they seemed to fit into Helen’s theory. He 
had found her in the kitchen, and in his 
198 



“Oh nothing, only — well, I suppose he can’t help pitying you.’* 




A GOOD-BY CALL 


wish to make the situation easier for her, 
had tried to help her cook the doughnuts ; 
he had returned, and, for the same reason, 
had helped her in the garden; he had no- 
ticed that she was not attending dancing 
school and had few visitors, and so had 
invited her to the game. It was for no 
merits or accomplishments of her own. 
She could not sing — except with the tea- 
kettle; she knew little French; she could 
not even play tennis. Before she was 
through with herself, she was convinced 
she could do nothing. 

Once again she found herself danger- 
ously near crying. She drew herself up 
sharply. Crying would do no good; it 
was worse than moping. Mrs. Trum- 
bull’s advice flashed into her head like a 
warning, and she caught some of that good 
lady’s aggressiveness. She was sure the 
latter would n’t waste any time in useless 
regret. Neither would her mother. Both 
women would go ahead in some way and 


201 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


remedy matters. Her lips came firmly 
together. 

If she had learned to cook, why 
shouldn’t she learn to sing? if she had 
learned to keep house, why should n’t she 
learn French? if she had learned to plant 
a garden, why could n’t she even learn to 
play tennis ? That she did not have these 
accomplishments at present was her own 
fault for having neglected her opportuni- 
ties, but she had the whole summer before 
her, and, if she worked hard, it might be 
possible to do much before fall. She felt 
that moment as though it was possible to 
accomplish anything before then. An- 
other idea lent romance to the undertak- 
ing : she would do these things by herself, 
and then, when Roy and the others came 
back from their summer vacation, she 
would surprise them all. She would sing 
for Miss Santier as the latter always said 
she might sing if only she practised her 
exercises ; she would address Helen Brook- 


202 


A GOOD-BY CALL 

field in French; she might possibly chal- 
lenge Roy at tennis; and, finally, astonish 
her father with all three acquirements. 

In the glow of her new enthusiasm, she 
ran swiftly into the house and up the back 
stairs to her own room. She put her hair 
in order before Mrs. Trumbull learned of 
her presence. When the latter finally 
heard her moving about, she opened the 
door. 

“How’d you find the garden ?” she in- 
quired. 

Elizabeth kept her head turned away as 
much as possible. She did not yet wish 
to confide, even to Mrs. Trumbull, her 
great project. 

“They are up,” she answered, repeating 
Martin’s announcement. 

“You were gone so long, I did n’t know 
but what you got lost,” said Mrs. Trum- 
bull. 

“Helen — Helen Brookfield rode by,” 
Elizabeth explained. 

203 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

“Oh, she did, did she?” exclaimed Mrs. 
Trumbull. “What did she want?” 

“She wanted to tell me she is going 
abroad.” 

“Well, I ’m glad of it. I hope she ’ll 
stay abroad.” 

“I hope she will stay until fall,” an- 
swered Elizabeth. 

Lightly humming a song Elizabeth hur- 
ried down to the kitchen. She had no 
sooner arrived than she heard a knock 
on the door. She recognized it with a 
start. It was Roy. For a moment, she 
hesitated, and then retreated across the 
room on tiptoe, and hurried up the stairs 
to Mrs. Trumbull. 

“There — there ’s some one at the door,” 
she said, a little out of breath with excite- 
ment. 

Mrs. Trumbull looked up sharply. 

“Well,” she demanded, “why didn’t 
you open it?” 


204 


A GOOD-BY CALL 

“Because I don't want to see him," an- 
swered Elizabeth. 

“See who?" 

“Roy." 

“Land sakes !" returned Mrs. Trumbull, 
in astonishment. “You don't mean to 
say that you two have quarreled! You 
have n't been so foolish !" 

“No. It is n't that. But — won't you 
please tell him that I can't see him ?" 

“I don't — I really don't like to do it," 
Mrs. Trumbull said frankly. “But if you 
can give me any good reason — " 

The knock was repeated, for Roy could 
tell by the smoke from the chimney that 
some one was at home. 

“Is it because of anything that Helen 
Brookfield said?" demanded Mrs. Trum- 
bull. 

“It — it ’s something she told me," Eliza- 
beth admitted finally; “but — oh, please go 
down !" 


205 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


For a moment, Mrs. Trumbull studied 
the girl sharply. She saw that Elizabeth 
was really in earnest, and that whatever 
was troubling her was no mere passing 
whim. She started reluctantly toward the 
door. 

“All right,” she said, “I ’ll do it, but I 
don’t like the idea at all.” 

She went down-stairs, and a moment 
later, Elizabeth heard her talking with 
Roy. Then in a moment she heard the 
door close. She tiptoed to the window 
and saw Roy striding down the path carry- 
ing his shoulders well back as usual. Un- 
seen by him, she waved him good-by. 
“Oh,” she exclaimed to herself, “I ’ll show 
them ! I ’ll show them all !” 


206 


XII 


A NEW FRIENDSHIP 

W HILE Mrs. Trumbull was dressing 
next morning, she heard, in the 
kitchen below, such a gladsome trill of 
fresh, young notes, blending with the 
morning songs of the birds, that she 
paused to listen. The voice was so strong 
and full of joy that it filled her own old 
heart, and sent her back in her thoughts 
a full twenty-five years. It was so Eliza- 
beth's mother used to begin the day. 

Hurrying through her toilet, Mrs. 
Trumbull stole down the stairs and stood 
a moment at the kitchen door. Every- 
thing in the room seemed to be singing: 
the fire in the stove, the kettle on top of 
it, and the golden sun, which, in a broad, 
207 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


warm stream, poured through the win- 
dows. Elizabeth, with crimson cheeks 
and in a gingham apron, stood beside the 
bread board cutting out biscuits, which 
were almost ready to go into the oven. 
She was still singing, and though her 
song consisted of nothing but exercises 
which Miss Santier had given her to prac- 
tise last winter, there was music in every 
note. Mrs. Trumbull didn’t know one 
tune from another, anyway, but she knew 
a singing heart when she heard one. And 
if ever the spirit of a summer morning 
could be expressed in music, it was being 
now so expressed. 

Mrs. Trumbull stepped into the room, 
and, crossing to Elizabeth’s side, kissed 
her on the forehead. With a laugh and a 
little courtesy, Elizabeth greeted her in 
French. 

“Bon jour , Madame Trumbull.” 

Madame Trumbull stared at the girl, 
as though fearing she had lost her wits. 

208 


A NEW FRIENDSHIP 

“What ’s that?” she demanded. 

“It ’s French for good morning,” ex- 
plained Elizabeth. 

“What do you want to put it into 
French for? Seems to me that plain Eng- 
lish is good enough for every-day Ameri- 
cans.” 

“ Vraiment ?” answered Elizabeth, with 
a twinkle. 

“Vraymong? What is Vraymong ?” 

“It 's a polite way of saying, 'Really/ ” 
answered Elizabeth. 

“Bah! I don't call it polite answering 
a person back in a way she can't under- 
stand.” 

“But you must learn with me,” Eliza- 
beth explained enthusiastically. “If ever 
we should go to France — ” 

“Catch me going to France!” answered 
Mrs. Trumbull. “That chef up to The 
Towers is all I want to see of French- 
men.” 

“There ’s an idea !” cried Elizabeth. 

209 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

“I can practise on him. Thanks! I can 
practise on him!” 

“Nonsense! Whatever has got into 
you this morning, anyway?” 

Elizabeth placed her biscuits in a pan 
and put them in the oven. 

“Lots and lots of things,” she answered. 
“I ’m going to learn to sing, and speak 
French, and play tennis, besides learning 
to keep house.” 

“What for?” demanded Mrs. Trumbull, 
with her usual directness. 

“It ’s a secret,” answered Elizabeth. 

“I ’ll wager it has something to do with 
Helen Brookfield.” 

“Perhaps,” answered Elizabeth. “She 
really did make me want to do all those 
things, though I don’t believe she meant 
to.” 

“Well, you’ll do whatever you set out 
to do,” nodded Mrs. Trumbull. “But 
what in the world you want to waste time 
210 


A NEW FRIENDSHIP 

on that French nonsense for is more than 
I know.” 

That afternoon, Elizabeth paid a visit 
to The Towers. She found that the ten- 
nis-court there, though never used, was 
in very good condition, for Mr. Churchill 
never allowed anything about the estate 
to suffer from neglect. He strongly ap- 
proved of tennis for girls, and had had 
this court made in the hope that it might 
attract Elizabeth to the game; but she, 
after playing in a desultory fashion for a 
season, had found that it required so much 
exertion that she had finally dropped it al- 
together. 

The sight of the well-rolled court filled 
her with renewed eagerness, but one 
could n’t play tennis by one’s self. Here 
was an obstacle which, in the first flush 
of her enthusiasm, she had not considered. 
With her classmates gone for the summer, 
she would be left quite by herself. 

211 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


She went on to find the chef, in order 
to carry into effect at once her second plan. 
The latter was very glad indeed to see 
her, for he found much idle time on his 
hands since the mistress of The Towers 
had left. His choicest creations often went 
untasted, and, for breakfast, he was al- 
lowed to display his art in nothing more 
complicated than soft boiled eggs and hot 
rolls. 

“Ah, ma’m’selle !” he said to her, in 
French, with a deprecatory wave of his 
hands, “what is it possible to do with soft 
boiled eggs ?” 

“Eat them,” answered Elizabeth. “We 
often have them for breakfast. They are 
very easy to do.” 

“Easy? easy?/” he answered, in con- 
tempt. “It is not ease that a chef seeks, 
but art.” 

Elizabeth laughed. 

“I must tell that to Mrs. Trumbull,” she 
answered. 


212 


A NEW FRIENDSHIP 


“Non! non! ma’m’selle,” he begged, “for 
then Madame Trombooll might wish to 
come up here.” 

And the man who held every one in his 
kitchen in abject fear, looked so very much 
concerned over this possible contingency, 
that Elizabeth hastened to change the sub- 
ject. 

“I ’m going to practise my French on 
you,” she announced. 

Again the chef was startled, but he re- 
covered himself and bowed gallantly. 

“It is a too great honor, ma’nTselle,” he 
protested. 

“You mean you don’t want me to,” an- 
swered Elizabeth, somewhat chagrined. 

“Non! non! It is not that. But listen 
— I have a niece — Ma’m’selle Gagnon. 
She has just arrived, and is very anxious 
to give the lessons in French. Per- 
haps—” 

“That will be even better,” answered 
Elizabeth, without hesitation. “You may 
13 213 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


send her to the house. But I shall prac- 
tise on you just the same whenever I come 
here.” 

Again the chef bowed. 

“V’enever ma’m’selle wishes,” he 
agreed. 

So that much was settled at any rate, 
and Elizabeth returned to her own house 
somewhat encouraged. She was just 
about to enter, when she heard a voice be- 
hind her. Turning, she saw Nance Bar- 
ton, dressed in tennis costume and carry- 
ing a racket. Her cheeks were glowing 
as a result of her recent exercise, and she 
walked with the easy grace of one whose 
muscles have free play. It was almost as 
though she had come in obedience to the 
wave of a fairy wand. 

As Beth went to meet her, her eyes ex- 
pressed an even more cordial welcome than 
her words. 

“Oh, Nance!” she exclaimed heartily, 
“I am so glad to see you !” 

214 


A NEW FRIENDSHIP 


For a moment, the latter appeared a 
little taken aback, as though she had not 
expected such a warm greeting. 

“I came over to see if you would be at 
home this evening,” she said with a trace 
of embarrassment. 

“Why, I ’m at home now ,” answered 
Elizabeth. “I ’m at home all the time, 
Nance.” 

Elizabeth looked wistfully at the tennis 
racket, but Nance misinterpreted the 
glance. Remembering Elizabeth’s aver- 
sion to the game, she felt called upon to 
make an explanation, and said : “I Ve 
been playing with Miss Jerome.” 

“We have a very good court at The 
Towers,” answered Elizabeth. 

“I know you have,” nodded Nance; “I 
saw it as I came by. I wish you knew how 
to play, Beth.” 

“So do I,” answered Elizabeth. 

“You — you do? You really do?” 

“Oh, Nance, you don’t know how 
2iS 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


much!” Elizabeth exclaimed, taking her 
hand impulsively. 

“But — ” said Nance, hesitating, “but I 
thought—” 

“That I ’d rather sit on the side-lines 
and look on ? That ’s what I told you, 
was n’t it ?” and for a second Elizabeth 
lowered her eyes. 

“Somehow I never could believe you 
meant it — that you were in earnest,” an- 
swered Nance. 

“And I was n’t,” Elizabeth confessed, 
lifting her head. “Perhaps I thought I 
was then, but I know now I was n’t. I ’m 
ashamed of myself, and I want to make up 
for it if I can. I want to do things ; I want 
to do everything.” 

“I understand, Beth!” 

“I don’t suppose you ’d want to play 
with me?” 

“I ’d love to, Beth.” 

“But, you know, I can’t play at all — 
yet.” 


216 


A NEW FRIENDSHIP 


“But it 9 s in you,” Nance declared. “Do 
you remember when I played Miss Win- 
throp?” 

Elizabeth nodded. She remembered 
the whole episode, and was not proud of 
her part in it. 

“I saw you watching me during the last 
set,” went on Nance. “And I knew then 
that if you were in my place, you 'd have 
won that match.” 

“I know that I wanted you to win,” an- 
swered Elizabeth, with a laugh. “Oh, 
Nance ! if you were only going to be here 
all summer.” 

“I am !” answered Nance. 

“You are n't going away?” 

“No. It was decided to-day. Father 
can't leave, and so we 're going to try 
camping out in the city this summer. 
Mother says we must.” 

“Then do you mean to say — ” 

“I 'll play with you every day if you 
wish — yes, every day all summer long.” 

217 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


With an eager, glad cry, Elizabeth 
seized her friend's hand. 

“ Would you like to go up to the court 
now?" Nance asked. 

“It — it seems too good to be true," 
Elizabeth laughed nervously. “It won't 
take me a minute to get into my tennis 
shoes. Come in with me, Nance?" 

Elizabeth led the way into the little 
house, and Nance followed, a little curi- 
ously perhaps. 

“Mrs. Trumbull," Elizabeth called, 
“I 'm going to play tennis !" 

Mrs. Trumbull came out with some sew- 
ing in her hands, and her spectacles 
shoved upon her forehead. 

“Well," she observed, “I don't see ’s 
that 's anything to get so excited about, 
Beth." 

“Nance is to teach me, and she 's going 
to be here all summer." 

“Well! well! well!" replied Mrs. Trum- 
bull. 


218 


A NEW FRIENDSHIP 


“I don’t believe any one would go away 
if they had such a nest as yours, Beth,” 
declared Nance, who had been looking 
around with surprise and interest at the 
cheerful, sun-lighted little room. 

“You like it?” Elizabeth asked eagerly. 

“It ’s like a great big playhouse,” an- 
swered Nance. “I should think you ’d 
love caring for it.” 

There was a note of wistfulness in 
Nance’s voice that surprised Elizabeth. 
She had thought the latter despised house- 
keeping and all indoor tasks. 

“I didn’t at first,” Elizabeth admitted; 
“but now — I guess I like doing every- 
thing.” 

A few minutes later, the girls were at 
the court, and Elizabeth had taken her po- 
sition as jauntily as Nance herself. She 
won the serve, and as a result of her keen 
observation and knack of imitation, so 
aped the form of a good player, that when 
she tossed up the ball and swooped down 
219 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

upon it with her racket, as she had seen 
Nance do a hundred times, the latter came 
up on her toes as though preparing for 
the attack of an expert. The ball, how- 
ever, instead of speeding over the net and 
dropping to the inner court, flew off at an 
angle, as high and flighty as the dart of a 
barn-swallow. 

“Oh, dear !” cried Elizabeth, “that is n’t 
where I aimed it.” 

“You ’re playing too hard,” Nance cau- 
tioned her. “You must begin easy.” 

“But I don’t want to play a lady’s game ; 
I want to play a man’s game,” said Eliza- 
beth. 

“It ’s sureness that counts, whichever 
game you play,” Nance returned. “I 
would n’t try at first to do anything but 
get the ball in the court.” 

Somewhat reluctantly Elizabeth obeyed 
the advice, and dropped the ball lightly 
into the court. Acting upon impulse, 
Nance bore down upon it and made so 


220 


A NEW FRIENDSHIP 


swift a return that Elizabeth merely stood 
in her tracks and watched the ball speed 
past her. 

“There!” she gasped. “You see what 
happens when I serve you easy ones.” 

“I ought n’t to have hit it so hard,” 
Nance laughed in apology. “But hon- 
estly, Beth, you look like such a good 
player, that, for a moment, I really forgot 
you are only just beginning.” 

After this, Nance returned the balls 
within Elizabeth’s reach, and, considering 
everything, the latter did very well. Try 
as hard as she might, however, Elizabeth 
could not forget the humiliating fact that 
Nance did not find it in the least necessary 
to exert herself. But this did not vex her. 
It had rather the wholesome effect of 
strengthening her resolution. 

At the end of an hour, the two returned 
to the little house by the lane, where they 
found that Mrs. Trumbull had made for 
them a pitcher of cool lemonade. She 
221 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

served with this some of Elizabeth’s 
cake. 

“Beth can do better than this,” she ex- 
plained, “but I don’t think it ’s anything 
to be ashamed of as it is.” 

“I ’m afraid I did n’t get quite sugar 
enough in it,” said Elizabeth, with the ten- 
dency of a good cook to undervalue her 
own production. 

Nance tasted of it and gave her verdict 
instantly : 

“It ’s delicious.” 

Then she added, with some hesitation : 

“Beth, could you — do you suppose — oh, 
Beth, would you mind trying to teach me 
how to cook ?” 

“You?” exclaimed Elizabeth. 

“I — I ’d like to learn.” 

“I ’ll teach you all I know,” cried Eliza- 
beth. “And then Mrs. Trumbull will 
teach us both. But, Nance — I wonder 
how it happened that we never knew each 
other before?” 


222 



Nance returned the balls within Elizabeth’s reach 







A NEW FRIENDSHIP 

It was after Nance had left and Beth 
and Mrs. Trumbull were back in the front 
room that Elizabeth turned impulsively to 
the latter. 

“ Aunty Trumbull,” she exclaimed, “I ’m 
beginning to love the little house by the 
lane !” 

Mrs. Trumbull beamed down upon the 
girl. 

“It shows all over you,” she answered. 
“And it shows all over the house, too.” 


225 


XIII 


A GUEST FOR SUPPER 

E LIZABETH proved herself gifted by 
nature with three essentials of a good 
tennis-player — quickness of thought, 

quickness of eye, and quickness of move- 
ment. It remained for her to make her 
racket obedient to these faculties. This 
was a matter largely of practice, but, if 
she had not had such a good coach as 
Nance, she might, in the meanwhile, have 
acquired faults that would have taken her 
long to correct. Like most girls, Nance 
had learned the game in a haphazard fash- 
ion, and had only seen her mistakes after 
she had progressed to a point where they 
made all the difference between an exceed- 
ingly good player and a merely fair player. 
226 


A GUEST FOR SUPPER 


By that time, they had become so fixed as 
to be extremely difficult to overcome. 
From the first, Nance insisted that Eliza- 
beth play very carefully, even though the 
result made a game more like battledore 
and shuttlecock than tennis. 

“It ’s very poky,” protested Elizabeth, 
who longed to hit the ball as hard as she 
could. 

“I know it,” Nance agreed. “But it ’s 
the only way to learn. In a game I gen- 
erally feel the way you do, and pay for 
it by getting beaten. Miss Winthrop 
knew this, and just waited for me to beat 
myself.” 

“Does n’t she play good tennis ?” asked 
Elizabeth, in some surprise that Nance 
should put this forward as an excuse for 
her defeat. 

“Indeed she does!” Nance replied 
quickly. “It ’s good tennis to take advan- 
tage of your opponent’s weakness.” 

“I thought you played a better game 
227 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

than she did in the tournament,” said Eliz- 
abeth. 

“At times I did,” laughed Nance. “But 
that is n’t what counts. It ’s better to 
play a good game all the time than a bril- 
liant game part of the time.” 

“I don’t believe it ’s as much fun 
though,” Elizabeth declared. 

“In the end it is,” answered Nance. 
“It ’s steadiness that wins, and winning is 
part of the fun, anyhow.” 

Day after day they used the court at 
“The Towers,” and, for three weeks, 
Nance insisted upon making the play as 
slow as it was possible to make it and keep 
the ball moving. She allowed Elizabeth 
to attempt nothing but straight shots. 

“For,” she explained, “the first thing to 
make sure of is that your return lands in 
the court. The fastest and prettiest stroke 
in the world won’t count you a point, if it 
goes out of bounds.” 

But, even using no speed, Nance was 
228 


A GUEST FOR SUPPER 

able to keep Elizabeth running about the 
court in a way that gave her plenty of 
exercise. And though, at first, this prac- 
tice seemed dull to Nance herself, she 
discovered before long that it was prov- 
ing just as valuable to her as to her 
pupil. 

In this way Elizabeth became thor- 
oughly limbered up, and learned to keep 
her eye on the ball, and to move her racket 
almost unconsciously. The little she had 
played the year before helped her in this. 

The next step added both interest and 
excitement to the game; without increas- 
ing the speed of the ball Nance instructed 
Elizabeth to do as she herself had been 
doing all along, attempt place shots. 

“You ought to know just where every 
ball is going when you strike it, and just 
why you want it to go there,” explained 
Nance. “But you mustn’t forget your 
first lesson while you are trying this. Re- 
member, the thing that always counts is 
229 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

to have the ball land somewhere in the 
court.” 

To emphasize the value of placing, 
Nance at first stood still at the end of each 
play until the ball on the return struck the 
ground. This gave Elizabeth an oppor- 
tunity to see just how far out of reach of 
her opponent she succeeded in driving it. 
It taught her, furthermore, to look for 
open spaces and to keep Nance on the 
move. 

This continued for another three weeks, 
and then Nance allowed more speed. 

“Hit the ball a little harder, Beth,” said 
Nance; “but don't try any cuts for the 
present. A hard, straight ball, well 
placed and sure, is better than a hundred 
fancy strokes that go wild. Miss Win- 
throp taught me that, though I ought to 
have known it before.” 

By the first of August, the two girls 
were playing a game that was really in- 
230 


A GUEST FOR SUPPER 


teresting to watch. It was straight, heady 
tennis, with some speed and few faults. 
Every point was contested as much with 
the brain as the arm, and, though Nance, 
of course, was still beating Elizabeth, she 
found it necessary to work harder every 
day. 

But the thing that made it interesting, 
after all, was Elizabeth’s intense earnest- 
ness. Some new quality had been roused 
in her which gave her not only eagerness 
but patience. From the beginning of 
every game to the end, she played each 
point as hard and as conscientiously as 
possible. She never flagged. The last 
game of the last set called forth as much 
in her as the first game. More, perhaps, 
for it nettled her to think she was not yet 
able to press Nance to her best. 

“You keep on playing better all the 
time,” laughed Elizabeth, at the end of one 

hard-fought set. 

14 


231 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


“You make me,” Nance replied quietly. 
“But even if I beat you, I ’d rather play 
with you than any one I know.” 

“Now, Nance!” 

“Honestly. I have to use my head 
more.” 

The compliment pleased Elizabeth, and 
she knew it was sincere. Nance was as 
outspoken as a boy, especially in the matter 
of tennis. 

“And I love to play with you, but I 
can’t help wanting to beat you, Nance,” 
Elizabeth answered with equal frankness. 

“I think you will, in the end,” Nance 
answered. “But if you do, you ’ll make 
me play my hardest.” 

“And it ’s playing hard that makes it 
fun,” added Elizabeth, with her lips firmly 
together. 

But, if Elizabeth was catching up with 
Nance on the tennis-court, Nance had the 
satisfaction of seeing herself catch up with 
Elizabeth in the kitchen. It added to the 
232 


A GUEST FOR SUPPER 


interest of both girls to work together, 
and, under the able tutoring of Mrs. 
Trumbull, they advanced rapidly. Mrs. 
Trumbull had much the same idea about 
learning to cook that Nance had about 
learning to play tennis. 

“Learn the plain, simple things first, ” 
she said. “After that there ’s time enough 
to fool round with folderols. Beth’s 
mother made the best bread I ever ate. A 
man won’t starve to death if he has good 
bread.” 

At first, Nance found it impossible to 
work up very much enthusiasm over this 
new acquirement. Only a sense of duty, 
and Elizabeth’s eagerness, saved the task 
from drudgery. That was all it had ever 
been considered at home, where the con- 
stant worry over securing and satisfying 
a good cook made housekeeping a real 
burden. But, at the end of a few weeks, 
Nance imbibed a new spirit here in the 
house by the lane. The kitchen was not 
233 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


so much a feature of housekeeping as it 
was of home-making. This was equally 
true of the other necessary duties. The 
result was the creation of so intimate and 
personal an atmosphere under this roof 
that the presence of a servant would have 
seemed almost like an intrusion. From 
cellar to garret, this was Elizabeth’s 
house — as much a part of her as she was 
a part of it. 

Though Nance, of course, did not have 
an equally personal interest in the house, 
she found herself in a very short time 
sharing, to a large extent, Elizabeth’s en- 
thusiasm. Mrs. Trumbull made her feel 
that, as a woman, she would be called 
upon, some day, to direct a household, and 
that it would then be to her honor that 
she was prepared. 

“A man is n’t a man who can’t handle 
tools and animals!” Mrs. Trumbull ex- 
claimed one day, as the conversation 
drifted back to what boys used to know 
234 


A GUEST FOR SUPPER 


in the old days. “No, sir, not if he ’s 
president of a bank ! And a woman is n't 
a woman who can’t take care of a house 
— not if she ’s the wife of a bank presi- 
dent. A woman can be whatever she 
likes after she knows how to sew and 
cook and make a home ; but she ’s got to 
know that first to be a woman.” 

“But a great many of them don't know 
how to do these things,” laughed Nance. 

“I ’ve learned that since I came up 
here,” Mrs. Trumbull answered. “And 
I ’ve no patience with that kind ! They 
are as helpless as kittens when the cook 
leaves, and of about as much use.” 

“All girls don’t have the chance to learn 
that Beth has had,” answered Nance. 

“If I ’d had my own way, I would n’t 
have had the chance,” laughed Elizabeth. 
“You don’t know how I hated to come 
down here.” 

“You were different then, Beth,” an- 
swered Nance. 


235 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


“So were you/' replied Elizabeth. 

That evening after Nance had gone, 
Mrs. Trumbull observed: 

“I wish every one of your friends could 
live here a while with you/’ 

“Even the Brookfield girls ?” asked 
Elizabeth. 

“Well, it would do them good,” de- 
clared Mrs. Trumbull; “but I must say 
I 'd hate to be around.” 

“There 's Daddy,” began Elizabeth, 
with a little break in her voice, and a 
wistful look toward “The Towers.” 

“It would do him more good than any 
one,” Mrs. Trumbull affirmed. 

“But he won't come.” 

Mrs. Trumbull placed her hand affec- 
tionately on the girl's shoulder. 

“There, child, there !” she said. “Don't 
worry about him. It takes time to 
change a man as set in his ways as he is.” 

But it happened that this very evening, 
as they were sitting down to supper, there 
236 


A GUEST FOR SUPPER 

was a rap at the front door. Elizabeth 
answered it, and found her father there. 
She threw her arms about his neck. 

“Oh, Daddy, but I ’m glad to see you !” 
she cried. “You don’t know how very 
glad I am!” 

He softly smoothed back her hair with- 
out speaking. 

“We were just sitting down to supper. 
You ’ll stay, Daddy?” 

“I ’m afraid not,” he answered, “I just 
stopped to see you for a moment. I have 
a great deal to do to-night.” 

But, seizing his hand, Elizabeth drew 
him into the dining-room. The table 
looked very dainty, and the simple repast 
very tempting. Before he had time to 
protest further, she had run about and 
brought a chair to the table, and set a 
place for him. The next thing he knew, 
he found himself seated. 

“You ’re getting as tanned as though 
you had been at the sea-shore,” corn- 
237 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


merited Mr. Churchill, as Elizabeth 
handed him his tea. 

‘Why shouldn't she?" challenged Mrs. 
Trumbull. “Every one around here 
seems to think there is n't any sun or blue 
sky at home. They act as though they 
did n't dare breathe fresh air unless they 
pack up and go off a hundred miles. 
Lors ! if you could see Beth racing round 
that tennis-court every day!" 

“You Ve taken up tennis again?" asked 
Mr. Churchill. 

“Nance and I/' nodded Elizabeth, who 
was disappointed that Mrs. Trumbull had 
divulged the secret. She had planned to 
surprise her father in the fall, as well as 
her school friends. 

“That’s fine!" he exclaimed enthusias- 
tically. 

“It 's Nance that makes it fine," said 
Elizabeth. “Oh, Daddy, she 's been aw- 
fully good!" 

“It 's six of one and half a dozen of the 
238 


* 



Seizing his hand, Elizabeth drew him into the dining-room 


A GUEST FOR SUPPER 


other,” Mrs. Trumbull broke in. “But I 
must say Nance is a nice girl.” 

“I rather think all girls are nice when 
you get at them,” smiled Mr. Churchill. 
“You look very homelike here, Beth.” 

“You think so, Daddy?” 

That he did, he proved to her satisfac- 
tion, by the way he enjoyed his supper, 
and by staying until nearly nine o’clock. 
Even then he left reluctantly, and with 
many backward glances as Elizabeth 
stood at the door and watched him out of 
sight. 


241 


XIV 


AN ACQUAINTANCE REAPPEARS 

W ITH every hour of every day occu- 
pied, the month of August sped by 
like a single week. 

“I don’t see where the time goes !” 
Elizabeth exclaimed to Mrs. Trumbull, as 
the latter announced that it was the first 
day of September. 

“I wonder about that twice every year ; 
once in the fall, once in the spring,” said 
Mrs. Trumbull. 

“I wonder about it every day,” laughed 
Elizabeth. "I wish there was a year be- 
tween now and next month.” 

“What happens then?” 

“Nance goes back to school on the 
twentieth.” 

“You need n’t look so sorrowful about 
242 


AN ACQUAINTANCE REAPPEARS 

that,” Mrs. Trumbull said gently. “That 
is n’t the end of her, is it?” 

“No, only — well, I suppose it will give 
me more time for my French,” said Eliza- 
beth, grasping at the only consolation she 
could think of at the moment. 

“And preservin’ time will be here afore 
we know it,” added Mrs. Trumbull. 

“Preserving time?” questioned Eliza- 
beth, not understanding. 

“We ought to make some jelly and 
pickles, and put up some plums and grapes 
and quinces.” 

“I thought you bought those things all 
put up,” said Elizabeth. 

“Maybe some folks do, but I don’t,” an- 
swered Mrs. Trumbull. “What do you 
want to buy them for when the things 
are growin’ all around you?” 

“I don’t know,” answered Elizabeth, 
“only most people do.” 

“Most people are plumb lazy!” snapped 
Mrs. Trumbull. “No, sir! we’ll have 
243 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

our shelves full before snow flies. I 
know your father has n't had anything of 
the kind for fifteen years." 

“We can have them for Thanksgiv- 
ing!" exclaimed Elizabeth. 

Mrs. Trumbull nodded. 

“It 's time we were beginning now. 
Perhaps we can get around to it by next 
week." 

“We might keep that to do for the week 
after," suggested Elizabeth. “I 'll want 
a lot to do then." 

“There 's plenty to do all the time, if 
you do things right," said Mrs. Trumbull. 

There was certainly plenty to do on 
this, the first day in the month, for Eliza- 
beth, in the morning, tidied up the whole 
lower floor of the house, and finished the 
forenoon by making a cake. Immedi- 
ately after luncheon, Mademoiselle Gag- 
non came for an hour, as she did three 
times a week. She had scarcely gone be- 
fore Nance appeared. 

244 


AN ACQUAINTANCE REAPPEARS 

Elizabeth played an unusually good 
game that day, pressing Nance to her best 
and winning the first set by six four. It 
was the first time she had ever won 
against Nance. 

“I told you I *d beat you !” she exclaimed 
enthusiastically. “And oh, Nance, I Ve 
done it ! I Ve done it !” 

In her excited joy she gave a step or 
two that resembled an Indian war-dance. 
But Nance was looking serious. 

“That ’s only one set,” she answered 
soberly. 

“I know it, but think of winning even 
one set from you !” cried Elizabeth. 

“It won’t count unless you win the sec- 
ond,” replied Nance. 

The latter was seated on the wooden 
bench by the side-lines, nervously tapping 
her foot with her racket, anxious to be- 
gin again. She was really disturbed, for 
she always felt keenly every defeat. She 
was a girl who could be more generous to 
2 45 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

a defeated opponent than to a victorious 
one. In this case, remembering how 
short a time ago it was that Elizabeth 
could play scarcely at all, the defeat was 
particularly humiliating. 

Elizabeth danced to her side and placed 
an arm about her. 

“You don’t mind if I ’m glad, Nance?” 
she asked. 

“No,” answered Nance; “but I’m go- 
ing to do my best to beat you this next 
set.” 

“Then come on !” cried Elizabeth, 
flushed with victory. “I ’ll try hard, but 
with no hard feeling!” 

It was Nance’s serve, and she shot a 
fast ball over the net that completely baf- 
fled Elizabeth. Changing to the other 
court, she repeated the feat, making it 
thirty love. The third time she tried, she 
served twice into the net, but succeeded 
on the fourth attempt in making the score 
forty fifteen. 


246 


AN ACQUAINTANCE REAPPEARS 

By this time the smile had left Eliza- 
beth’s face. Her lips became firm, and 
she held herself alert. She stood back 
farther for the next serve, and succeeded 
in returning it. Nance swooped down 
upon the ball, and, attempting to drive it 
at full speed, drove it into the net. A 
moment later she made a double fault; 
and now with the score at deuce, Eliza- 
beth again returned the serve and ran up 
to the net. Nance lobbed the ball, but 
Elizabeth recovered it and sent it back 
very deliberately along* the side-lines for 
the advantage. Once again Nance at- 
tempted to win on the serve, and, putting 
her full strength into the strokes, shot 
two fast balls into the net, and lost the 
game. 

She was by now thoroughly aroused, 
and waited eagerly for Elizabeth’s 
straight serving in order to recoup. But, 
though Elizabeth attempted neither cut 
nor curve, there was considerable speed 

247 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


in her serve, and much precision. She 
varied the serve to the right and left 
of the court with an occasional slow 
ball that was extremely irritating. It 
dropped lightly over the net, and was 
very difficult to return for one who was 
waiting far back for a swift ball. It 
bounced low, and Nance, if she reached it, 
was pretty sure to return it out of bounds, 
because of her impetuosity. In the proc- 
ess, she not only lost her point, but more 
and more of her self-control. In this 
way, Elizabeth actually won the second 
game. This gave her such self-confi- 
dence that in the third game, where Nance 
steadied down a little, she lost only by a 
single point, and this was contested back 
and forth in a hard-fought rally. 

“Good, Nance !” exclaimed Elizabeth, 
as her opponent finally succeeded in pass- 
ing her. 

A gentle handclapping came from the 
248 


AN ACQUAINTANCE REAPPEARS 

side-lines, and she looked around to see 
there a light-haired young man, whom, at 
first, she did not recognize. He stepped 
forward. 

“I beg pardon,” he said with a smile. 
“May I interrupt the game long enough 
to inquire if you have completely recov- 
ered?” 

“Recovered?” stammered Elizabeth. 

“It ’s rather a foolish question, is n’t 
it?” he faltered, as he noted her red 
cheeks. “I should have called before if I 
had not been away.” 

It was not until then that Elizabeth 
brought to mind all the episode of the 
frightened horses at the country club. 

“Oh! Mr. Crawford!” she laughed, ex- 
tending her hand. “I remember now. 
But I was n’t hurt at all.” 

He still looked so solicitous that, for a 
moment, Elizabeth felt concerned that she 
had received no injury worthy of his anx- 
15 249 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


iety. There was something foreign in 
his deferential courtesy and in the slight 
stoop of his shoulders. 

“I am very glad,” he answered. “I 
was n’t told that the horses were afraid 
of automobiles.” 

Elizabeth introduced the new-comer to 
Nance. 

“I mustn’t interrupt your game,” he 
apologized, with a bow. 

“Our games are never finished,” an- 
swered Elizabeth. “Will you not come 
to the house and meet Mrs. Trumbull?” 

He hesitated. 

“My house is just below here,” she 
said, pointing to the house by the lane. 

He glanced in that direction with some 
surprise. A bed of many-colored zinnias 
lent a touch of color to the quiet gray of 
the house, while the rose vine over the 
porch made it stand out like a cool oasis 
among the formal houses to be seen be- 
yond. 


250 


AN ACQUAINTANCE REAPPEARS 

“May I?” he asked. 

Elizabeth led the way across the fields, 
and, as she saw him still studying the cot- 
tage, she said: 

“It ’s a very old place. It was my 
mother’s.” 

“Then I should n’t call that very old,” 
he answered. 

“It must be twenty-five years old, at 
least.” 

“Oh!” he exclaimed in surprise. “You 
don’t call that old — really?” 

“What would you call old?” 

“Why — five hundred years,” he an- 
swered. 

“But the Pilgrims hadn’t come over 
then, so a house could n’t be that old !” she 
exclaimed. 

“I did n’t think of that,” he answered 
with a smile. 

Mrs. Trumbull was somewhat sur- 
prised to see the girls returning with a 
stranger, but, as soon as Elizabeth ex- 

251 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


plained, the good lady greeted the lad 
cordially. 

“Beth never told me a word about that 
scrape/’ said Mrs. Trumbull. “I s’pose 
she misses death by a hair a dozen times 
a day that I don’t know anything about. 
It all comes of having those fool automo- 
biles round loose.” 

“I like horses better myself,” answered 
Crawford. 

“Then you must have been brought up 
in the country,” declared Mrs. Trumbull. 

“I was,” he admitted. 

The girls excused themselves for a few 
moments to put their hair in order after 
their exercise; but Mrs. Trumbull, with 
her old-fashioned and informal hospital- 
ity to the guest who “happens in,” in- 
sisted that he should remain and share 
with them the lemonade and cake which 
she always had ready for the girls after 
the game. He watched her with interest 
as she made her preparations. 

252 


AN ACQUAINTANCE REAPPEARS 

“You don’t happen to be a State of 
Maine boy, do you?” she asked, with 
good-natured curiosity. 

“No,” he answered. 

“Vermont, perhaps?” 

“No,” he answered. “I ’m an Eng- 
lishman.” 

“An Englishman !” she exclaimed in 
astonishment. 

“Yes,” he nodded. “I came over here 
for the summer, to see something of 
America. I ’m going back to-morrow.” 

“Well, well, well!” she murmured, 
quite confused for the moment over this 
revelation, “Then you visited Maine?” 

He shook his head. 

“I spent most of my time in New York 
and Chicago, and the rest of it on trains.” 

“Land alive!” she protested, “do you 
call that seeing America !” 

“I don’t know,” he replied wearily. 
“At any rate, I can’t say that I ’m keen 
about what I saw. It all seems so new.” 
253 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

He gave a quick glance around the 
room. 

“Do you know,” he added impulsively, 
“I like it here better than any place I Ve 
been.” 

“Well, I reckon this is better than 
some places, anyhow,” she answered 
proudly. “And it ’s all due to Beth. 
She likes it better than “The Towers/ 
though she ’s lived here only a few 
months.” 

“It seems very homelike,” he said, boy- 
ishly. “I suppose that ’s because I found 
most of my friends living in houses like 
hotels.” 

“Like the big house yonder ?” she 
asked. 

“Yes,” he laughed, “I was afraid, at 
first, that Miss Churchill lived there.” 

“No, siree!” answered Mrs. Trumbull. 
“She lives right here.” 

At this point Beth and Nance returned, 
and the conversation became more gen- 
254 


AN ACQUAINTANCE REAPPEARS 

eral. They talked of tennis, and found 
that Crawford played. 

“You must come out some day and have 
a set with Nance,” said Elizabeth. 

“With Beth,” Nance corrected. “You 
saved me from being defeated to-day, Mr. 
Crawford.” 

“No,” laughed Elizabeth, “you saved 
her from beating herself.” 

“I 'd like to play with both of you,” he 
assured them, “only I 'm afraid I can't. 
You see, I sail to-morrow.” 

“Back to England, where he lives,” put 
in Mrs. Trumbull, a little proud of hav- 
ing already learned the fact. 

“Then that 's why you did n't think the 
house was very old!” exclaimed Eliza- 
beth. 

“It really doesn't seem very old com- 
pared with buildings that have been 
standing for four or five hundred years, 
does it?” he asked. 

“Five hundred years!” exclaimed Mrs. 
255 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

Trumbull. “I must say that I shouldn’t 
want to undertake keeping a house neat 
which was that old. Would you, Beth?” 

Mr. Crawford laughed. 

“You must come over sometime and 
see how we do it. You have visited Eng- 
land?” 

“Once,” answered Elizabeth; “but it 
seems as though we were either in hotels 
or trains most of the time.” 

“I know, I know,” he replied quickly. 
“That ’s the trouble with visiting other 
countries, I fancy. But when you come 
again — will you let me show you another 
side of it?” 

“Thank you,” answered Elizabeth. 

“And perhaps we can have our game 
over there,” he added with a smile. 

It was almost supper-time before he 
rose to go, and then it was with evident 
reluctance. This was one of those quick 
friendships which seem to cover months 
in a few hours. He left, promising to 
256 


AN ACQUAINTANCE REAPPEARS 

write, and exacting a promise from Mrs. 
Trumbull that if she ever visited Eng- 
land, she would let him know. 

“But,” she assured him, “I ’m too set, 
at my age, to go skylarkin’ around the 
world.” 

So, in a single afternoon, the young 
stranger came and went. But as Mrs. 
Trumbull said to Elizabeth and Nance, 
who were eagerly discussing who he 
might be, “he ’s the kind of lad that 
makes you feel that you are bound to see 
him again.” 


257 


XV 

roy’s return 

A S the opening day of school ap- 
proached, Elizabeth grew more 
and more serious. She wanted to go 
back with Nance and begin again. For 
the first time in her life, she felt a desire 
to learn and to do for the sake of learn- 
ing and doing, whereas, the year before, 
what little incentive she had sprang from 
pride alone. It was only the fear of ap- 
pearing stupid that had made her study 
at all. But now, having proven her 
power in one direction, her ambition had 
been roused to excel in others. 

The semi-victory over Nance in tennis 
brought it to a head. She laughed gaily 
to herself as she realized the surprise to 
her old friends this new acquisition of 
258 


ROY'S RETURN 

hers would be. She had made Nance 
promise not to breathe a word to any one 
of their practice during the summer. 
She laid awake nights picturing to her- 
self how the girls would smile when she 
went upon the court, and the amazement 
which would follow should she beat one 
after another of the minor players. And 
she knew she could beat them. At times 
she felt as though she could beat even 
Nance — perhaps even Miss Winthrop. 
Ah, if she could win a game against Miss 
Winthrop ! 

And, after all, there was a good spirit 
back of these dreams. It was no self 
glorification she sought. Rather she 
seized upon the opportunity as a chance 
to redeem herself. She saw herself now 
as others had seen her, and it brought 
the hot color to her face. If they had 
looked upon her as proud and indolent, it 
had been her own fault. The spring 
tournament had aroused her somewhat, 
259 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


but it was the inspiration of Mrs. Trum- 
bull arid the house by the lane that had 
completed the work. One fared ill in 
attempting the role of pretty incompe- 
tence before Mrs. Trumbull. 

Several times she was upon the point 
of asking her father to allow her to re- 
turn to school, but in the end her pride 
checked her. It would n’t be worth much 
coming that way. She must win the 
right to go back, as she wished to win 
other things, by her own ability. 

Three days before school was to open, 
her father dropped in one evening for 
supper. He watched her with unusual 
keenness as she presided at the table, and 
later as, with Mrs. Trumbull, she made 
the dining-room and kitchen tidy for the 
night. Even after they had gone into the 
sitting-room, he said nothing until he was 
about to leave. Then he asked, as casu- 
ally as though it were an every-day mat- 
ter: 


260 


ROY’S RETURN 

“Elizabeth, would you like to go back 
to school this fall?” 

“Daddy!” she exclaimed. 

“I ’ve had a talk with Miss Grimshawe, 
and I ’ve told her that it ’s the Lady of 
the Lane and not the Lady of The Tow- 
ers’ I wish to enroll. Am I right?” 

Elizabeth for a moment hung her head. 
The comparison brought back very viv- 
idly that first episode, now almost forgot- 
ten. 

“Look up, my daughter,” said Mr. 
Churchill. “I want you to understand 
that I ’m very proud of you !” 

Mrs. Trumbull rose and placed her 
arm about the drooping figure. 

“I won’t have her shamed by no one,” 
she asserted aggressively. “If Miss 
Grimshawe or any one else dares — ” 

“But Miss Grimshawe wants her very 
much,” he said reassuringly to Mrs. 
Trumbull. 

He turned to his daughter. 

261 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


“I think that, in spite of everything, 
she has a warm place in her heart for you, 
Elizabeth/’ 

“She’d better have,” Mrs. Trumbull 
warned. 

“What do you say, Beth?” 

“I ’ll be very, very glad to go back, 
Daddy !” she exclaimed. “Only — it 
does n’t mean giving up the home, does 
it?” 

“It would hurt me very much if you 
wanted to give up that,” he answered. 

And so, after Elizabeth had cried a mo- 
ment on her father’s shoulder, and Mrs. 
Trumbull was through sputtering about 
Miss Grimshawe, the matter was all set- 
tled. 

“I suppose you will need some new 
clothes, Beth,” said her father. “Per- 
haps Mrs. Trumbull had better go into 
town with you to-morrow and help you 
pick out what you need.” 

262 


ROY'S RETURN 


Elizabeth finished her shopping in a 
very few hours, where, a year ago, it 
would have taken her several days. 
Somehow gowns did not seem to count 
for so much now. What she did select 
she chose with her usual good taste. 

She told the news to Nance when the 
latter came that afternoon, and Nance 
was almost as delighted about it as Eliza- 
beth herself. 

“Then you 'll enter the tournament, af- 
ter all!" exclaimed Nance, when they had 
talked over several other matters. “But, 
Beth, I hope you are n't drawn against me 
in the preliminaries." 

“Why not?" asked Elizabeth with a 
smile. 

“Because it’s going to make me feel 
just as bad to beat you, as to be beaten 
by you. I Ve half a mind to keep out of 
it this fall." 

“Nonsense!" answered Elizabeth. 
263 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


“That wouldn’t be fair to either of us. 
I guess we can both stand a beating now 
and then, if it comes to that.” 

“I know,” Nance answered slowly. 
“But — well, there ’s no use trying to cross 
a bridge before we come to it. Anyhow, 
we must practise hard these next few 
weeks. Are you too tired to have a game 
this afternoon?” 

“Why should I be tired?” asked Eliza- 
beth. 

“You said you were shopping all the 
morning.” 

Elizabeth made a wry face at the recol- 
lection. 

“The first time I ever get tired shop- 
ping, I ’m going to stop doing it,” she an- 
swered. 

“Good!” laughed Nance. “Then come 
on. Mr. Crawford won’t be here to 
watch us to-day.” 

“Didn’t you like him?” asked Beth, as 
they started arm in arm for the court. 

264 


ROY’S RETURN 


“Well enough/’ answered Nance. 
“He seemed rather foreign.” 

But it happened that, even with Mr. 
Crawford on the high seas, they did not 
find themselves free from interruption. 
Before the first ball was served, Elizabeth 
heard a familiar voice, and turned to find 
herself facing Roy Thornton. Tanned 
and ruddy, he strode toward her, with — 
first of all — a surprised greeting to 
Nance. 

“Mrs. Trumbull said you were up 
here,” he explained. “I couldn’t help 
coming over, even though — ” 

He paused and studied Elizabeth a mo- 
ment, as though to learn just what her at- 
titude toward him might be. She looked 
uneasy, but he caught a smile about the 
corners of her mouth that encouraged 
him. 

“ ‘Shake, please !’ as we boys say. 
Won’t you?” he said, extending his hand; 

and she obeyed. 

1 6 


265 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


“I ’m glad to see you again, and I ’m 
glad to see you out here.” 

He crossed to Nance. 

“You, too, Nance!” he added. “You 
both look as though you had been at it all 
summer.” 

“And you had a pleasant summer?” 
Elizabeth asked, anxious to change the 
subject. 

“Fine!” he answered enthusiastically. 
“Wenham, Harden, and I took a walking 
trip through New England.” 

“That must have been good fun,” said 
Nance. 

“Great! We started without a cent, 
and worked our way — just to see if we 
could do it. But — excuse me ! I ’m in- 
terrupting your game ; I 'll watch a min- 
ute, if I may. Do go on !” 

“I ’d rather hear more about your trip,” 
Elizabeth said hastily. “Wouldn’t you, 
Nance?” 

Nance, understanding Elizabeth’s mo- 
266 


ROY’S RETURN 


tive in not wishing to play before Roy, 
nodded. But the latter would not hear of 
their giving up the game. 

“If you won’t play, I ’ll go,” he said de- 
cidedly. “The story can wait, but you 
are n’t always sure of such tennis weather 
as this.” 

There seemed to be no alternative. They 
had either to play or let him go, so Eliza- 
beth reluctantly picked up the balls. 
While doing this, however, she found a 
chance to whisper to Nance: 

“Don’t you dare speak, no matter how 
badly I play!” 

Elizabeth took her position, and with 
an awkward swoop of her racket, sent 
the first ball spinning twenty feet out of the 
court. The next one she served into the 
net. She made herself as awkward as 
possible, and, when it came time for Nance 
to serve, acted just as ridiculously in try- 
ing to return the ball. Nance began to 
laugh, and soon reached a point where she 
267 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


could not control herself. As a result, 
she played about as badly as Elizabeth. 

“Oh, look here, Beth," protested Roy, 
“take things easier." 

This was just after she had run under 
a gentle lob from Nance, missing it en- 
tirely. 

But Elizabeth was able to keep up the 
farce no longer. “I don't feel much like 
playing to-day," she said. “I 'm not do- 
ing at all well." 

“Oh, you must n't get discouraged, 
Beth !" Roy said seriously. “I wish you ’d 
let me come up and play with you some 
day." 

“I 'm afraid I 'd give you as dull a game 
as poor Nance has had to endure," she re- 
plied. 

“We 'll arrange for it some Saturday, 
shall we ?" 

“I 'll see," she answered, without com- 
mitting herself. “But I expect to be very 
268 


ROY’S RETURN 


busy. School begins Monday, and that, 
with my housework — ” 

“You ’re going back to school?” he ex- 
claimed. 

She nodded, though her cheeks turned 
scarlet, for a second, at the word “back.” 

“Good ! that ’s great !” he went on, and 
added in explanation, “somehow it made 
you seem awfully grown up, not being in 
school.” 

The three returned to the house by the 
lane, and there Roy was persuaded to tell 
more of his summer adventures. 

“We wanted to see if we couldn’t be 
as good pioneers as our great-grand- 
fathers were,” he said, “so we started 
from Portland to find out just how far 
we could work our way. It was easy 
enough. We chopped wood, helped with 
the haying, and lived like kings. I guess 
we could have kept on going clear to the 
Pacific Ocean, if we ’d had time.” 

269 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


“I ’ll wager you could,” agreed Mrs. 
Trumbull. 

But it was only bit by bit that he was 
induced to tell the interesting details of 
the experiment. In fact, they kept crop- 
ping out all winter. 

“Don’t forget about the tennis game,” 
he said, as he was leaving. 

“Oh, Beth!” exclaimed Nance, when 
they were alone, “I — I tried not to 
laugh.” 

“I don’t know that it was a very nice 
thing to do,” Elizabeth apologized, “but 
I didn’t want to give away my secret 
just then. And I won't play with him 
until after the tournament.” 

“I would n’t, if I wanted to keep the 
secret,” laughed Nance. “I don’t believe 
you could play so outrageously a second 
time.” 

In many ways, Elizabeth dreaded the 
ordeal of that first day at school, but when 
the time came, to her surprise she found 
270 


ROY'S RETURN 

it no ordeal at all. Miss Grimshawe 
greeted her with a cordiality that, in a 
moment, effaced all memory of the past. 
Neither in word nor manner did she in 
any way refer to it. And little Miss 
Sander actually wept at sight of Eliza- 
beth. 

“Cherie! cherie!” she choked, “the 
school was n’t the same without you.” 

And when Elizabeth answered her in 
very good French, the little woman was 
forced once again to wipe her eyes. 

But with the girls it was another mat- 
ter. There was a great deal of gossip 
which, as usual, started with the Brook- 
field pair. The latter, in new frocks, 
bought abroad, held their chins high and 
vouchsafed Elizabeth nothing but a nod 
in passing. It might have hurt had she 
not known her chance was coming — a 
chance which came before a week had 
passed, with the opening of the fall tennis 
tournament. 


271 


XVI 


ELIZABETH PLAYS MISS WINTHROP 

W HEN the entries for the tourna- 
ment were posted in the school 
corridor, and Elizabeth Churchill’s name 
led all the rest, the Brookfield girls could 
hardly believe their eyes. But there was 
no denying that her name was there, writ- 
ten in her own firm, round handwriting. 
They called the attention of several other 
girls to the strange fact, whereupon there 
followed much giggling. 

“It will be worth watching; won’t it, 
Jane?” Helen observed. 

“Why, she can’t play at all; can she, 
Helen?” 

“I call it very bold of her even to try,” 
answered Helen. 

But if they were surprised that Eliza- 
272 


PLAYS MISS WINTHROP 


beth was daring enough to enter the con- 
test, their astonishment knew no bounds 
when, after drawing, it was found that 
she was pitted in the preliminaries against 
no less a player than Miss Winthrop her- 
self, and intended to fight it out. 

“I heard her say so!” exclaimed Helen 
to an excited group of eager inquirers. 
“I was standing close by when Miss Win- 
throp came up and asked her if she did n’t 
mean to forfeit the set. And Elizabeth 
answered, as cool as you please, ‘No, I 
mean to play it/ Those were her very 
words; weren’t they, Jane?” 

Jane nodded. 

“And Miss Winthrop turned as red as 
a beet, and said she thought Elizabeth 
might want to save herself the trouble.” 

“And Elizabeth said, ‘No trouble at 
all/ ” put in Jane. 

“Just like that,” nodded Helen. “ ‘It ’s 
no trouble at all, Miss Winthrop/ ” 

A chorus of exclamations and giggles 
273 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


greeted this, interrupted by the arrival of 
Nance at the bulletin board. As the latter 
saw the result of the drawing, her face 
grew serious. 

“What do you think of that, Nance ?” 
demanded Helen. 

“Of what?” answered Nance. 

“Why, of Elizabeth Churchill daring to 
play Miss Winthrop. She refused to for- 
feit the set, you know.” 

“I ’d be ashamed of her if she did,” an- 
swered Nance, her spirit and her color 
rising. 

“You don't mean to say she has a 
chance?” exclaimed Helen. 

“You can tell better after the game,” 
replied Nance, hurrying away. She 
found Elizabeth at her desk, reviewing her 
morning lessons. 

“It's hard luck, Beth,” she said in a 
whisper. 

“What is?” demanded Elizabeth. 

“Drawing Miss Winthrop at the start.” 

274 


PLAYS MISS WINTHROP 


“Pooh! I don’t mind at all,” Eliza- 
beth answered with a smile. “Do you 
know she wanted me to back out ?” 

“I know. Helen is spreading it all 
over the school.” 

“She is, is she?” answered Elizabeth, 
her lips growing firm. Then she laughed. 
“All right. Just you wait, Nance! 
Honestly, I think I can play better against 
Miss Winthrop than against any one in 
school. I ’ll be fresh and sure of myself, 
and she ’ll be a little over-confident. You 
see if she is n’t. I ’d rather play her than 
you. And I ’ll beat her.” 

“Good! good!” exclaimed Nance. “Oh, 
Beth, but the game will be worth see- 
ing !” 

“It will be worth playing anyhow,” an- 
swered Elizabeth. 

When Roy heard the news, he came 
over to the little house by the lane. 

“They tell me you drew Miss Winthrop 
in the preliminaries, Beth, and that you 
275 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


are going to play her !” he exclaimed ex- 
citedly. 

“Why not?” asked Elizabeth, with a 
smile. 

“My stars, but you ’re game !” he cried 
delightedly. 

“Isn’t it what you would do?” she 
asked. 

“Every time!” he answered. “I don’t 
believe in being whipped before you are — 
no matter what the odds. But, Beth, to- 
day is Monday and the tournament is n’t 
until Saturday. If you could get in a lit- 
tle practice before then.” 

“I shall,” she answered coolly. “Nance 
has promised to come over every after- 
noon.” 

“Then you don’t want me?” he asked. 

“Thank you, Roy. It is good of you 
to offer, but I ’ve been playing with Nance 
all summer, you know.” 

“Yes, I know,” he answered, somewhat 
crestfallen. 


276 


PLAYS MISS WINTHROP 


“And I really can play better than I did 
the other day,” she assured him. 

“I want you to do your best, Beth,” he 
replied seriously, and as though he did 
not have much confidence in that state- 
ment. 

“I ’ll do that, anyhow,” she answered 
lightly. “You ’ll be at the game?” 

“Helen Brookfield invited me,” he an- 
swered significantly. 

Elizabeth flushed. 

“And Wenham and Harden are coming 
down for over Sunday with me. But, 
Beth—” 

“Yes,” said Elizabeth as he hesitated. 

“I won’t come if you ’d rather I 
would n’t.” 

“You ’re afraid I may disgrace my- 
self?” 

He turned away, more embarrassed 
than he had ever been in his life. Then 
he faced her again with his hand ex- 
tended. 


277 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


“No,” he said. “Because I know 
you ’ll do your best, and when a fellow 
does that, he ’s done all he can.” 

“Then you ’d better come,” she an- 
swered with a smile. 

The day of the tournament turned out 
to be fair and crisp — ideal weather for 
playing. The whole school was present, 
for the stand Elizabeth had taken was the 
chief topic of discussion throughout the 
week. The Brookfield girls arrived late, 
and took positions on the side-lines next 
to Roy and his two friends ; but after the 
greetings were over, Roy gave his whole 
attention to the field and forgot the girls. 
He was decidedly worried. Even admit- 
ting that Elizabeth could play better than 
he had seen her play, even admitting the 
fighting blood in her which would lead 
her to play her best, it did n’t seem within 
the bounds of possibility that she could 
offset the skill and experience of as clever 
a player as Miss Winthrop. And, when 
278 


PLAYS MISS WINTHROP 


the latter stepped out on the court, he 
knew that Elizabeth could expect no 
mercy. It was certainly plucky of Beth 
to stick to her determination to play, but 
also, it seemed to Roy, decidedly fool- 
hardy. For one thing, he knew that, in 
her first attempt, she would take a beat- 
ing very much to heart, and it might de- 
stroy her confidence for a long time to 
come. He wished sincerely that she had 
drawn a less experienced antagonist. 

When Elizabeth appeared, however, he 
led the applause, and urged Wenham and 
Harden to do their best. The crowd, al- 
ways, if unconsciously, in sympathy with 
the weaker, took it up, and gave Beth a 
brave greeting. But if she heard it, she 
gave no sign. Her face was tense, and 
her lips tightly closed. She showed no 
trace of nervousness as she took her po- 
sition, but it was evident that she was 
under a strain. 

Miss Winthrop won the toss, and chose 
279 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


the serve, there being no advantage in 
either court. She began with a vicious 
cut that sent the ball off to one side, where 
it bounded at a sharp angle. It was 
slower and more baffling than anything 
Nance served, and bothered Elizabeth. 
She missed the first three points, which 
made the score forty love. 

“Too bad,” muttered Roy. 

Harden, who had been watching her 
carefully, heard him. “She ’s studying 
that out,” he said. “I have a notion she ’ll 
master it in a moment.” 

Elizabeth stepped in a little closer, and 
nearer the middle of the court, where she 
could jump either to the right or left, the 
ball having invariably struck close to the 
side-lines. This time she returned it 
without, however, a very close calculation 
as to direction. Miss Winthrop ran up 
to the net and volleyed back, but Eliza- 
beth was ready, and sent it along the side- 
lines for a neat pass. 

280 





A ' • 






The tennis game 




PLAYS MISS WINTHROP 

“Good! good!” exclaimed Roy, and led 
a vigorous applause. 

Miss Winthrop changed her next serve 
to a swift, straight ball, but this was the 
kind that Nance had been using largely, 
so that it was easier for Elizabeth than 
the cut. As Miss Winthrop ran to the 
net, Elizabeth lobbed the ball over her 
head. Miss Winthrop reached it, but, by 
that time, Elizabeth herself was at the 
net and turned it one side at a sharp 
angle, thereby winning her second point. 

Somewhat nettled, Miss Winthrop re- 
turned to her cutting serve, and succeeded 
in winning her final point and the game. 
But both Miss Winthrop and the gallery 
began to realize that this was not to be 
quite the farce that both had anticipated. 

When it came Elizabeth’s turn to serve, 
she sent a straight line ball, hitting it with 
a full-arm swing that gave it great speed. 
Miss Winthrop was not looking for this. 
It sped past her before she had even 
Ijr 283 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


swung for it. On the second ball, she 
moved farther back, but that time Eliza- 
beth, with the same motion, served one 
of her easy ones, which barely dropped 
over the net. Once again Miss Winthrop 
was taken completely by surprise. Mor- 
tified by having been so deceived, she lost 
her head at the next serve, and, swinging 
wildly for it, sent it into the net. She did 
better on the fourth ball, but, with a pretty 
return, slow and accurate, Elizabeth 
placed the ball just out of her reach, mak- 
ing the score in games one to one. 

But this was only the beginning of one 
of the hardest-fought and most exciting 
contests that the school ever witnessed. 
The experience of Miss Winthrop helped 
her to win the first set, but she was forced 
to use every trick and every ounce of 
strength at her command. And when she 
began the second set, it was like having 
to begin all over again, for she found her 
antagonist just as fresh, just as steady, 
284 


PLAYS MISS WINTHROP 

just as determined as at the start. Eliza- 
beth was neither disheartened nor ex- 
cited. She proceeded to take advantage at 
once of all she had learned in the first 
set, correcting the faults she had then 
made, and forcing Miss Winthrop hard- 
est where she had discovered the latter’s 
weakness. She was especially successful 
in teasing her opponent with slow balls. 
Miss Winthrop could not resist the temp- 
tation that they offered to attempt kill 
shots, and, being accustomed to fast play- 
ing, almost invariably made a fault. By 
the middle of the set, which stood four- 
two in Elizabeth’s favor, the latter re- 
sorted almost wholly to this game, return- 
ing the balls slowly, but with rare ac- 
curacy and judgment, and waiting for 
Miss Winthrop to beat herself. 

Roy fathomed Elizabeth’s tactics and 
glanced at Harden. The latter nodded 
his appreciation. 

“That ’s great head-work,” he said. 

285 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

“And it ’s head-work that wins any 
game!” exclaimed Roy. “Miss Win- 
throp is getting rattled.” 

It certainly looked that way, and the 
fact that she knew that, after all, she was 
playing with an inferior player, added 
to her confusion. In the last three 
games, she went to pieces completely, 
while Elizabeth, steadily and coolly, took 
full advantage of her opponent’s slight- 
est faults. The set went to Elizabeth at 
six-two. 

Roy could hardly contain himself. 

“It ’s wonderful !” he exclaimed. “I 
don’t understand how she does it !” 

“I think she has been very lucky,” sug- 
gested Helen. 

“Lucky !” returned Roy, hotly. 
“There ’s no luck in such playing as that ! 
If there ’s anything besides clean tennis, 
it ’s grit !” 

For the third and final set, Elizabeth 
once again took her place with no trace 
286 


PLAYS MISS WINTHROP 

either of fatigue or nervousness, while 
Miss Winthrop looked decidedly worried 
and a trifle exhausted. She was paying 
for her wildness with both mental and 
physical fatigue. But now she went to 
another extreme and played with such ex- 
cessive caution as to place her strictly on 
the defense. Elizabeth, on the other 
hand, in this third set played more ag- 
gressively than she had at any time be- 
fore. She used more speed and took 
chances as she had not dared to do be- 
fore. She kept Miss Winthrop running 
from one end of the court to the other, 
until the latter was in utter rout. The 
set went to Elizabeth at six-two, the last 
game being a love game. 

Elizabeth hurried up to Miss Winthrop 
to shake hands. “I ’m glad I won/’ she 
said heartily; “but I ? m sorry you lost.” 

“I did n’t expect to lose, but I know I 
deserved to,” answered Miss Winthrop. 

Roy, Wenham, and Harden rushed up to 
287 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


Elizabeth with congratulations, Nance 
close at their heels. Through eyes shining 
with joy, Elizabeth thanked them in some 
way, and then, with Nance’s arm about 
her, sought the club-house. 

“Beth, you did wonderfully !” ex- 
claimed Nance. 


288 


XVII 

AN OLD-FASHIONED HALLOWE’EN PARTY 

E LIZABETH'S victory over Miss 
Winthrop was the talk of the school 
on Monday morning, but, before noon, 
she had furnished them with another topic 
for discussion, when she announced that 
she intended to forfeit her game with Miss 
Currier, a player very much inferior to 
Miss Winthrop. To all the questions ex- 
citedly asked of her, she only smiled and 
shook her head. But Nance knew the 
reason, and heartily disapproved of it. 
She herself had won her first game easily, 
and it was conceded that she would have 
no more difficulty with her next opponent 
than Elizabeth would have with Miss Cur- 
rier. This, of course, would bring them 
into the finals against each other. 

289 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


“You ought n’t to drop out,” protested 
Nance. “It ’s like giving me the champ- 
ionship, and there ’s no fun getting it that 
way.” 

“I can’t help it, Nance,” Elizabeth an- 
swered, determinedly. “I ’d feel just as 
badly beating you as I would being beaten 
by you, and that’s all there is to it, my 
dear girl!” 

“I don’t think it ’s quite sportsmans- 
like,” frowned Nance. 

“Perhaps it is n’t,” Elizabeth agreed 
readily. “But it ’s a fact.” 

She placed her arm around her chum’s 
shoulder. 

“Don’t be vexed, Nance,” she pleaded. 
“I have n’t played much, you know, and 
so when I play, I play hard. It seemed 
cruel to force Miss Winthrop when she 
was all tired out. I ’d never forgive my- 
self if I played you that way, and it 
would n’t be tennis any other way, would 
it?” 


290 


AN OLD-FASHIONED PARTY 

“No,” admitted Nance. 

“Then let ’s not talk any more about 
it.” 

“All right,” agreed Nance with a smile. 
“We won’t.” 

And she didn’t, but, on the following 
Saturday, she did not appear on the 
courts, and so lost her own set by for- 
feit. 

“What ’s the matter with you two girls, 
anyway?” demanded Roy, when he next 
met them. 

“Some day we ’re going to play off the 
match in private,” answered Elizabeth. 

“Say — you ’ll let me umpire?” 

“No, sir!” laughed Elizabeth. “There 
won’t be a single soul to watch us !” 

During the next few weeks the school 
became about evenly divided between one 
group, centering around Elizabeth and 
Nance, and a second group which hovered 
around the Brookfield girls. Elizabeth 
herself, however, was far too busy, be- 
291 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


tween her school and home duties, to give 
much thought to this. 

Mrs. Trumbull had feared that Eliza- 
beth, once back in her old circle, would 
lose interest in her home, but the direct 
contrary seemed to be the fact. The more 
she was out of the little house by the lane, 
the keener was her delight in returning 
to it. She went about her tasks with re- 
newed zeal. Though Mrs. Trumbull, 
under the circumstances, thought it 
might be too heavy a burden for Eliza- 
beth to carry the latter refused to shirk 
a single duty. She was up as early as 
usual, and prepared the breakfast. Upon 
her return from school, Mrs. Trumbull 
had luncheon ready for her, but Elizabeth 
insisted upon preparing dinner and in de- 
voting Saturday forenoon to setting the 
house in order. 

“It wouldn’t seem like my home if I 
did n’t,” said Elizabeth, when Mrs. Trum- 
292 


AN OLD-FASHIONED PARTY 

bull expressed concern lest the work be 
too much for her. 

“Well, I must say you don’t make much 
fuss about it,” Mrs. Trumbull replied re- 
signedly. 

So late October came. The trees, after 
their harlequin carnival of the past few 
weeks, stood shivering beneath the cold 
fall blasts. The ground was strewn with 
leaves which rustled over the ground 
like whispering children. The frost-bit- 
ten pea-vines and a few dry corn-stalks 
were all that was left of the garden after 
the garnering of the crops. Except the 
golden pumpkins. Those stood out like 
miniature suns warming the whole deso- 
late district. But in the cellar of the lit- 
tle house by the lane were full bins and 
barrels, and shelf upon shelf of tightly 
sealed jars. 

But now, with these harvest tasks com- 
pleted, Elizabeth was ready to put into 
293 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


effect a plan that had been in her mind 
ever since school opened. 

“I want to give a housewarming/’ she 
announced to Mrs. Trumbull. “I think 
that, for some reason, half the girls are 
afraid to call here, and so I ’m going to 
invite them all, and introduce them to my 
home.” 

“Who cares whether they come or not?” 
demanded Mrs. Trumbull. 

“Oh,” laughed Elizabeth, “I want them. 
I ’d like this to be a sort of gathering 
place for all my friends.” 

“Well, it would be a good way to find 
out who are your friends and who are n’t, 
anyway,” declared Mrs. Trumbull. 

“I don’t even care about that,” an- 
swered Elizabeth. “I ’m friends with 
all of them, whether they are with me or 
not. I thought Hallowe’en would be a 
good time to begin.” 

“So it would,” agreed Mrs. Trumbull. 

294 


AN OLD-FASHIONED PARTY 


“Your mother always had a party Hal- 
lowe’en.” 

That afternoon Roy dropped in and 
Elizabeth told him of her plan. 

“Finer he exclaimed. “This is just 
the place for a Hallowe’en party. You 
can’t have a real one in an apartment- 
house, any more than you can have a real 
Thanksgiving in the city.” 

“I may have to call upon you to help 
me,” she hinted. 

“I ’d like nothing better,” he answered. 

“Then I ’ll make out a list right away, 
and perhaps you and Nance can help me 
address the envelops.” 

“I don’t star as a penman,” he an- 
swered. “But I ’ll stick the stamps for 
you.” 

A few days later, Roy, Nance, and Eliz- 
abeth were seated at their task in the sit- 
ting-room. Elizabeth had included in her 
list all her boy friends, and many that 
295 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


Roy had suggested, as well as all the girls 
in school of her own age. As Roy came 
to the names of the Brookfield girls, he 
scowled. 

“I suppose you had to ask them,” he 
said. 

“Yes,” she answered with a laugh. 
“Really, I don’t want to quarrel with any 
one, Roy, and I thought that if they came 
and had a good time — ” 

“Supposing they don’t come?” he de- 
manded. 

“Oh, I ’m sure they ’ll come if only 
to make fun,” answered Elizabeth. 
“They ’ve no business to do that,” he 
growled. 

“Well, they haven’t done it yet,” re- 
turned Elizabeth, good-naturedly. “We 
must n’t scold them beforehand.” 

“I ’m afraid of their tricks,” said Roy. 
“They are so clever about such things that 
you never know what they ’ll be up to 
next.” 


296 


AN OLD-FASHIONED PARTY 


“I ’m not afraid of them,” answered 
Elizabeth. “And I do hope they will 
come and have a good time.” 

“They would n’t admit they had a 
good time if they came,” answered Roy. 

He would n’t have expressed his opin- 
ion to any one else, but he was as frank 
with Elizabeth as with his mother. He 
had met the two Brookfield girls only a 
few days before, and they had suggested 
that some one ought to arrange a Hal- 
lowe’en party. He had hinted then, as 
broadly as he dared, that Elizabeth had 
something of the sort in mind. He 
had n’t liked the expression in Helen’s 
eyes as he told her this. It had left him 
with the feeling that he would have done 
better not even to have hinted. With this 
in mind, he tossed back to Elizabeth the 
envelop intended for Jane and Helen. 

“You address this,” he said briefly. 

When he left that afternoon, he took 
all the invitations with him, and mailed 
297 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


them at the postoffice. In the evening 
Mr. Churchill came over from “The Tow- 
ers,” and Elizabeth told him more fully 
her plans, of which he had already ap- 
proved. 

“I want to make it just like one of Moth- 
er’s parties,” she confided to him. “So 
now I want you to tell me everything you 
two used to do on Hallowe’en.” 

Elizabeth brought her chair closer to 
him so that she could rest her head upon 
his shoulder. He placed his arm about 
her. Mrs. Trumbull sat sewing on the 
other side of the fire. The setting was 
just as it was twenty years before. When 
he began to speak, it was with the worry 
of half-a-dozen business problems still 
clouding his brain, but as he went on, 
these were all forgotten. They were for- 
gotten as they used to be in those days 
when business was always of secondary 
interest to the house by the lane and the 
home for which it stood. Then it was life 
298 


AN OLD-FASHIONED PARTY 


and peace and happiness which counted 
most, and an event like one of these par- 
ties was to be remembered, even in the 
face of his biggest schemes for the getting 
of a fortune. So he sat for an hour tell- 
ing of the decorations and the games and 
the people, until Elizabeth felt as though 
she herself had been one of the former 
guests. 

“Oh, Daddy !” she exclaimed when he 
had finished, “I wish I had been there, 
too.” 

He patted her head. 

“It does n’t do much good to wish for 
impossibilities,” put in Mrs. Trumbull. 

“No,” agreed Mr. Churchill. 

“And I say we ought to be planning for 
the party to come.” 

“Right!” nodded Mr. Churchill. “For 
the party to come will soon be the party 
that is gone, and we must have pleasant 
memories of that, too.” 

Elizabeth sat up. 
j8 299 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


“My party is all planned,” she declared. 
“I ’m going to have everything just as 
Mother had it.” 

“Now that is n’t a bad idea,” said Mrs. 
Trumbull, looking up from her sewing. 

“But I shall need you to help me, 
Daddy.” 

“I ’ll do what I can,” he agreed. 

“Then — let me see. To-day is Tues- 
day, and the thirty-first comes on Satur- 
day. Will you come home early, so that 
I may have you the whole afternoon?” 

He hesitated. 

“I ’m afraid — ” he began. 

“Daddy,” she broke in, “you know I 
shall need you to hang all the high 
things.” 

“There ’s Martin,” he suggested. 

“I shall need you — you and no one but 
you,” she pleaded. 

Still he hesitated, for he had at least 
one important business engagement for 
that afternoon, but, as he lifted his eyes, 
3°0 


AN OLD-FASHIONED PARTY 

he caught in Mrs. Trumbull's glance a 
worried look that decided him. 

“All right !” he submitted, “I 'll be here 
at two o'clock." 

Elizabeth sprang to her feet. 

“Now," she declared, “I 'm sure my 
party will be a success !" 

But the next morning, Elizabeth re- 
ceived in the mail a little square envelop 
that took away her breath. On the sur- 
face it was inoffensive enough, but read- 
ing between the lines, it sounded like a 
declaration of war. It read as follows : 

The Misses Brookfield desire the honor of Miss 
Elizabeth Churchill’s company on Hallowe’en 
night, October thirty-first, at eight o’clock. 

R. S. V. P. Apthwaite Court. 

The Misses Brookfield must have re- 
ceived her own invitation that very morn- 
ing. To be sure, this conflict might have 
been accidental, but something made Eliz- 
abeth recall Roy's words of warning. 
301 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


But whether accidental or not, this made 
a very embarrassing situation. There 
was no doubt that both had invited about 
the same people. They had many friends 
in common, both at Miss Grimshawe’s and 
at Roy’s school. The two invitations 
would reach the same people at the same 
time, and this would leave them nothing 
to do but choose. 

Elizabeth hurried into the kitchen with 
the letter and showed it to Mrs. Trum- 
bull. The latter adjusted her steel-bowed 
spectacles and read it through. 

“Well!” she exclaimed. “Of all the 
mean tricks I ever heard of, this is the 
worst !” 

“But we don’t know for sure that it is 
a trick,” Elizabeth protested charitably, 
though with her heart in her boots. 

“Of course it ’s a trick,” answered Mrs. 
Trumbull, impatiently. “You wait until 
Roy sees this !” 


302 


AN OLD-FASHIONED PARTY 


“I suppose it means that I ’d better give 
up my party,” faltered Elizabeth. 

“Huh?” demanded Mrs. Trumbull, 
making herself as straight as a ramrod. 

“I suppose — ” 

“Don’t you suppose nothing of the 
kind,” Mrs. Trumbull broke in. “We ’ll 
have this party if every one else in the city 
gives one the same night! We ’re sure of 
three, anyway.” 

“Who?” asked Elizabeth. 

“Roy Thornton, Nance, and your dad. 
They are worth more than all the rest of 
them put together.” 

“Perhaps — perhaps Roy won’t come,” 
suggested Elizabeth. 

“Won’t, eh?” exclaimed Mrs. Trumbull. 
“Well, I ’d be willing to stake my life on 
it!” 

That night Elizabeth received five re- 
grets — all from her girl friends. But the 
next morning she received as many ac- 
303 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


ceptances, and these, oddly enough, were 
all from boys. On Friday came more re- 
grets and more acceptances, again divided 
as before. Elizabeth was mystified, but 
she went on with her preparations with as 
good a heart as possible. All day Friday 
both she and Mrs. Trumbull were busy in 
the kitchen. They made cake and dough- 
nuts and pumpkin-pies. In addition to 
this, Elizabeth made fudge and walnut 
creams. Martin had plenty to do crack- 
ing nuts and hollowing out the pumpkins, 
cutting eyes, noses, and mouths in them, 
and preparing the candles. From the be- 
ginning, Mrs. Trumbull had insisted that 
if this was to be an old-fashioned Hal- 
lowe’en party, everything must be made 
at home. Mr. Churchill had suggested 
that the chef be allowed to make some of 
the pastries, but Mrs. Trumbull wouldn’t 
listen a minute to that. 

“No, siree!” she said. “This is going 
to be an American party, and my notion 
304 


AN OLD-FASHIONED PARTY 


of an American party is where you put 
something of yourself into it.” 

“If I might make so bold as to say so, 
that’s an English party, too,” observed 
Martin. 

“Well, Englishmen are only Americans 
who have n’t come over here,” returned 
Mrs. Trumbull. 

Elizabeth had very good luck with her 
candy. The fudge was smooth and firm, 
while the creams were every whit as good 
as any she could have bought in town. So 
was the cake, for that matter, and the 
caramel frosting would melt in your 
mouth. 

Elizabeth received a note that day from 
Roy, saying that, with the foot-ball team 
and his studies, he would n’t be able to 
come over and help, and that Saturday he 
was to play. 

“I ’d ask you to come to the game,” he 
concluded, “but I know you ’ll be too busy. 
The whole team is looking forward to the 
305 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


party, and I ’m coming over early Satur- 
day evening to help you with the finishing 
touches. Hooray for you !” 

The whole team! Elizabeth was still 
pretty much confused as to what was go- 
ing on about the two gatherings. So far, 
not a girl had accepted, while every boy 
she had asked had written his enthusiastic 
thanks. She was too busy to worry 
much about this, but it certainly looked 
queer. 

The next afternoon her father, true to 
his promise, appeared shortly before two 
o’clock, ready for work. She pinned a 
blue apron over his business suit, to make 
him feel that he really had a great deal to 
do, and then ordered him to sit down 
while she and Martin festooned the 
windows with long strips of yellow 
paper. 

“What I want you to do, Daddy,” she 
explained, with an airy wave of her hand, 
“is to sort of oversee things.” 

306 


AN OLD-FASHIONED PARTY 


“Look here/' he protested, “I want to 
do more than that !” 

“Then,” she permitted, “you may hold 
the hammer and tacks.” 

But that did not suit him either, and in 
less than a minute, he was mounting the 
step-ladder and doing the actual work, 
while she herself was overseeing the job, 
and Martin was holding the tacks. They 
draped the windows with the yellow 
paper, and ran it all around the room. 
From this they suspended long strips 
which reached to the floor. The idea was 
to produce the color effect of an autumn 
corn-field, and, to make it more real, Mar- 
tin brought in several large stacks of the 
dried corn-stalks, which were placed in the 
corners. In each of the front windows 
one of the hollowed-out pumpkins was 
placed ready for the lighted candles. The 
orchestra contributed by Mr. Churchill as 
his share was to be half concealed in a re- 


cess. 


307 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


From opposite corners of the room stout 
cords were stretched, and from one of 
these, suspended on strings, were a half- 
dozen apples, and from the other half 
a half-dozen doughnuts. Then Martin 
brought in two large tubs, half filled with 
water, for the apple-bobbing contest. 
There still remained the dining-room to 
be decorated in much the same fashion as 
the front room, the dishes to be brought 
out, and the sandwiches to be made. You 
may be sure that every one was as busy 
as possible until it was time to dress for 
the evening. And no one was happier 
in the work than Mr. Churchill him- 
self. 

In a half-hour, Elizabeth was ready to 
receive her friends, while Mrs. Trumbull 
needed less time to don her black silk and 
twist her gray locks into a tight pug. 

When Elizabeth came down-stairs, Roy 
was waiting with a box of yellow jonquils. 
She tucked one of these in her hair, and 
308 


AN OLD-FASHIONED PARTY 


wore the others at her waist. She looked 
like a young and very charming goddess 
of the harvest. 

“I came early to see what I could do,” 
said Roy. “And — and — I suppose you 
know the Brookfield girls are giving a 
party to-night.” 

“Yes,” answered Elizabeth, with a 
smile, “I received an invitation.” 

“So did I. So did all the boys.” 

“So did all the girls,” added Elizabeth. 

“I know it. But — well, you wait and 
see what happens.” 

“I know one thing that will happen,” 
answered Elizabeth, good-naturedly, “I ’m 
afraid the boys who come here won’t have 
many dance partners.” 

“So ?” grinned Roy. “I ’ll bet my hat 
that the girls at the Brookfield party won’t 
either.” 

“Roy,” exclaimed Elizabeth, “I hope 
you did n’t do anything to make the boys 
come here.” 


309 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


“Make them?” returned Roy. “You 
could n’t have kept them away.” 

Just at this moment, Nance arrived, 
and fifteen minutes later, promptly at 
eight o’clock, the doorbell rang, and Mar- 
tin, proud in his old regalia of “The Tow- 
ers,” swung open the front door. Not 
one boy, but sixteen, filed in like a well- 
drilled regiment. In greeting her guests 
and in presenting them to Nance, Eliza- 
beth found her hands full, and, these pre- 
liminaries over, the party ran itself. 
Never did boys have a better time, and, 
for that matter, never did Elizabeth. 
She felt like a queen in the midst of her 
court. It seemed as though each boy 
vied with the others in his attentions to 
Nance and herself. For an hour, all 
struggled strenuously for the honors of 
the Hallowe’en contests, and then the 
floor was cleared for the dance. Seven 
of the boys bound their arms with hand- 
kerchiefs and acted as girls. Roy led the 
310 


AN OLD-FASHIONED PARTY 


grand march with Elizabeth, Grandon, 
the little quarter-back, seized Mrs. Trum- 
bull and insisted that she follow as his 
partner, while Sears came after with 
Nance. The sport waxed merrier and 
merrier from that moment on. Two- 
steps, waltzes, quadrilles, and Virginia 
reels followed in quick succession; Mrs. 
Trumbull had not danced so much in 
thirty years, but no boy would be satis- 
fied until he had her, as well as Elizabeth 
and Nance, for a partner. In the midst 
of the gaiety Mr. Churchill himself ap- 
peared, and joined in as though no older 
than the others. 

When it came to the spread, every 
member of the foot-ball team — and they 
were there to a man — broke training. 
Doughnuts, pie, and cake vanished as 
though by magic; sandwiches appeared 
only to disappear; and as for Elizabeth’s 
candy, it stood no more chance than snow- 
flakes before the sun. 

3 “ 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

It was eleven o’clock before the merri- 
ment ceased, and the boys reluctantly took 
their departure, vowing they had never 
had a better time in all their lives. They 
filed out in a body, and, as the door closed 
behind them, Elizabeth threw her arms 
about her father’s neck. 

“Oh, Daddy !”. she cried, “it was a suc- 
cess !” 

“Hark!” he answered. 

She heard Roy’s voice: 

“Now — all together, boys!” 

Sharp as the crack of a machine-gun the 
school yell rang out in the night air, end- 
ing with : 

“Miss Churchill! Miss Churchill! Miss 
Churchill!” 

“Who ’s all right ?” demanded Grandon. 

“Elizabeth Churchill!” came the enthu- 
siastic answer from seventeen strong 
throats. 


312 



The sport waxed merrier and merrier 






XVIII 


Elizabeth's dreams come true 
HOUGH Elizabeth made no mention 



JL of the party at school next day, it was 
clear that, among the other girls, the two 
affairs were being discussed in whispers. 
They talked more freely with Nance, and 
she did not hesitate to paint in glowing 
colors the success of the party in the 
house by the lane. On the whole, how- 
ever, most of the girls appeared rather 
sheepish, and avoided the subject. 

That afternoon Elizabeth was very 
much surprised to receive a call from Miss 
Winthrop. 

“Elizabeth,” the latter began abruptly, 
“I Ve come to apologize.” 

“For what?” asked Elizabeth. 

“For joining in Helen's plan, which was 


3 1 5 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


meant to hurt you,” she answered without 
mincing matters. “Helen admits her 
party was a failure. Do you know there 
was n’t a single boy there except two rel- 
atives ?” 

Elizabeth smiled. 

“Do you know, there was n’t a single 
girl at my party except Nance and my- 
self?” she asked. 

“Yes,” Miss Winthrop confessed. 
“We ought every one of us to be 
ashamed !” 

“You need n’t be,” answered Elizabeth. 
“I was sorry you didn’t come, for I 
wanted you all there, but, of course, Helen 
wanted you, too.” 

“But she did n’t,” Miss Winthrop re- 
plied. “She just wanted to spoil your 
party. She says so herself, and — and she 
wanted me to tell you so, and to say she is 
sorry.” 

“Helen wanted you to say that!” ex- 
claimed Elizabeth. 

316 


DREAMS COME TRUE 


“We all talked it over at recess, and de- 
cided it was the only thing to do. She 
ought to have come herself, but you know 
how hard that would be for her.” 

“It would n’t be so hard as she thinks,” 
answered Elizabeth. “I would have un- 
derstood and forgiven her, and I do for- 
give her.” 

Miss Winthrop’s eyes grew moist. 

“How dear and good and generous you 
are!” she exclaimed impulsively. 

“I don’t deserve that praise,” answered 
Elizabeth. “But I don’t have time to 
quarrel any more. You see, I have so 
much to do here.” 

Miss Winthrop glanced around the 
pretty room. 

“You ’re certainly lucky,” she answered. 
“I wish the rest of us had a chance to 
learn what you are learning here.” 

Elizabeth leaned forward and placed 
her hand on Miss Winthrop’s knee. 

“Do you, honestly?” she asked. 

19 317 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


“Honestly !” 

“Then listen,” she began breathlessly. 
“I ’ve been thinking over something ever 
since school opened. It may sound foolish 
to you, and if it does, I want you to say so 
right out. Will you?” 

“I guess we ’d be better off all the time 
if we always said things right out,” agreed 
Miss Winthrop. 

“That *s Mrs. Trumbull’s way, any- 
how,” smiled Elizabeth. “And, oh, I do 
want you and the other girls to know her ! 
I did n’t like her at first, but now — well, 
she ’s made me see everything differently. 
She is so different from us ; she knows how. 
to do the things women used to do. She 
knows how to cook, and to sew, and to keep 
house, and put up preserves, and — oh, I 
couldn’t begin to tell you all the things 
she knows. My mother was like that. 
She knew about such things, too.” 

“I don’t think my mother did,” con- 
fessed Miss Winthrop. 

318 


DREAMS COME TRUE 


“I guess a lot of mothers to-day don’t,” 
mused Elizabeth. “That ’s probably why 
we girls don’t learn.” 

“But I ’d like to know,” broke in Miss 
Winthrop. 

“You ’re better than I was,” admitted 
Elizabeth, with a short laugh. “I did n’t 
even want to learn. I — I thought it 
was n’t ladylike. Think of it !” 

“You ’re no worse than the rest of us,” 
laughed Miss Winthrop. “We ’d think 
so now, if it was n’t for you.” 

“And you don’t think so now?” asked 
Elizabeth. 

“I ’d be ashamed to look you in the face 
and say so,” answered Miss Winthrop. 

“I know you might be ashamed to say 
so, but do you think so ?” 

“Honestly I don’t. I can’t say I ’m 
crazy to learn to cook, but I know I ought 
to learn.” 

“Oh, you ’d like it after a while. Why 
now — I even like to get breakfast.” 

319 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


“Ugh ! I don’t believe I ’d ever get 
that far !” 

“Yes, you would,” exclaimed Elizabeth. 
“You ’d get to like to do things for your- 
self, no matter what. It makes you feel 
so free.” 

Elizabeth’s face reflected her enthu- 
siasm. Her eyes were bright and her 
cheeks flushed. She had never talked so 
earnestly with any one about anything. 
She meant every word she said. 

“But we have n’t such nice little houses 
to learn in,” answered Miss Winthrop. 
“It would n’t be so much fun in an apart- 
ment.” 

“Then,” exclaimed Elizabeth, “why 
don’t you come down here and learn?” 

“Why, Beth, what do you mean?” 

“That you start a cooking class to meet 
here one afternoon a week; and a sewing 
class to meet another afternoon. I ’d love 
to share this house with you — with all my 
friends.” 


320 


DREAMS COME TRUE 

“Beth!” exclaimed Miss Winthrop. 
“And Mrs. Trumbull says she 'll help 
us and — oh, do you want to do it?” 

“Why, I think it would be great! We 
might make a club. We might call our- 
selves the 'Old-Fashioned Girls.' ” 

“Good!” agreed Elizabeth, her quick 
brain developing the idea. “And what- 
ever we did we could do in an old-fash- 
ioned way. We could have dances and 
not allow any girl to come who hadn't 
made her own dress ; we could have 
spreads, but every girl must bring some 
of her own cooking. Each girl could 
make some one thing; I would make the 
butter, you could make the bread — ” 

“I make the bread?” chuckled Miss 
Winthrop. “I guess that would end the 
party.” 

“No, you can learn. Why, Mr. Har- 
den can make biscuits, and Roy — ” 

“Can make doughnuts,” Miss Winthrop 
finished for her. “Brother Dick says he 's 
3 21 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


prouder of that than being captain of the 
baseball team/’ 

“Well, it is something to be proud of,” 
returned Elizabeth. 

“Dick said he’d beat Roy in one thing 
anyhow, and bothered the cook all one 
afternoon trying to make angel cake.” 

Elizabeth laughed, and Miss Winthrop 
rose to go. 

“I ’ll see Helen and Jane this after- 
noon,” she declared. “I wish we could 
hold our meeting next Saturday.” 

“We can,” agreed Elizabeth. “You 
talk with all the girls, and then we ’ll make 
out a list and ask them here to tea. But 
I only want those who honestly wish to 
learn.” 

“I think about ten of us will be enough 
to start with,” nodded Miss Winthrop. 
“I ’ll see you again, and we ’ll decide 
whom we ’ll take in as charter members. 
Then perhaps later we can make it larger.” 

In this way the club was founded. Soon 
322 


DREAMS COME TRUE 


it was deemed a privilege to belong to it, 
and to-day it is -still growing and making 
itself felt in more ways than one. 

But Elizabeth still had one thing at 
heart, more vital than her ambitions for 
the Old-Fashioned Girls. As November 
passed, and December came and Christmas 
began to loom up, and still her father lived 
his lonely and solitary life at “The Tow- 
ers, she seemed to have failed in the one 
big undertaking which had furnished her 
with the spirit to enter upon her new life 
with such good grace. Apparently she 
had not yet made her home attractive 
enough to draw him to it. She had suc- 
ceeded in making herself proud of it, in 
making her friends proud of it, but with- 
out her father it was not, after all, really 
and truly her home. 

One day Elizabeth surprised Mrs. 
Trumbull by announcing: 

“I ’m going to move into the spare 
room.” 


323 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 

“What are you going to do that for?” 
demanded Mrs. Trumbull. “The front 
room is the sunniest and best in the 
house.” 

“That,” declared Elizabeth, “is where 
Daddy is going to live.” 

“Where — do you mean to tell me your 
father has come round at last?” asked 
Mrs. Trumbull excitedly. 

“Not yet,” answered Elizabeth. “But I 
expect him to live here after Christmas.” 

“What makes you expect that?” per- 
sisted Mrs. Trumbull. 

Elizabeth only laughed. 

“You wait and see,” she answered. 

Elizabeth transferred into the spare 
room all her own personal belongings. 
They were not many, and she had to buy 
a few simple things, because everything 
that was her mother’s she left behind. 

“Now,” she said, after she had done 
that, “I want you to tell me, just as near 
324 


DREAMS COME TRUE 


as you can remember, just how Mother’s 
room used to look.” 

“It did n’t look very different from the 
way it looks now,” said Mrs. Trumbull. 
“A few of her things may have been 
packed away in her trunks, but most every- 
thing is here.” 

“Then we must look through the 
trunks,” explained Elizabeth. “There is 
one of them we have not opened yet.” 

“But what are you planning to do?” 
questioned Mrs. Trumbull. 

“I want to make her room look exactly 
as it did when she was here,” said Eliza- 
beth. “Perhaps then, if I bring Daddy 
up here on Christmas Day, and he sees 
things just as they used to be, he ’ll want 
to come back and live the way he used to 
live. And then — ” 

Her voice broke. She clung impul- 
sively to Mrs. Trumbull. 

“Oh!” she cried, “I do so want my 
325 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


daddy here ! Don't you see, I can't really 
be the Lady of the Lane without him!" 

“There, dear, there," whispered Mrs. 
Trumbull, tenderly. “I guess — well, I 
guess he 'll come home on Christmas 
Day." 

They ransacked the attic and found 
many things which they had not noticed 
before. Elizabeth drew from a corner 
two of her mother's favorite chairs which 
had been put away because they were 
slightly broken, but Martin mended them, 
and they were as good as ever. Then 
there were some yellowed muslin cur- 
tains. 

“Land sakes!" exclaimed Mrs. Trum- 
bull, “I do believe these are the very ones 
she had when she first came down here!" 

Washing and bluing and bleaching 
made them white and fresh again, and 
Elizabeth herself hung them in place. 

There were also some old pictures, and 
Elizabeth dusted these, cleaned the frames, 
326 


DREAMS COME TRUE 


and hung them where, as well as Mrs. 
Trumbull could- remember, they had been 
before. But the rarest treasure of all was 
a miniature portrait of her mother, which 
Elizabeth found tucked away in the bot- 
tom of a trunk. Mrs. Churchill had had 
it painted in her wedding-dress. Mrs. 
Trumbull put on her spectacles and stared 
at it until her own eyes grew misty. Then 
she handed it to Elizabeth. 

'There !” she exclaimed, “if you want 
to see how you look to-day, look at this !” 

“How I wish I were half so lovely,” said 
Elizabeth, her lips trembling. 

“I don’t believe in flattering girls, but 
you ’re her living image !” answered Mrs. 
Trumbull, trying to wipe her eyes with 
her apron without being seen. “I de- 
clare! it seems almost as though she was 
going to speak to you.” 

Reverently Elizabeth pressed the pic- 
ture to her lips. 

“Dear Mother!” she faltered. 

327 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


“And if that does n’t bring your father 
back here, nothing will,” added Mrs. 
Trumbull. 

“I shall put it on the little table by the 
bed,” said Elizabeth, “and I shall bank it 
all up with holly and evergreen.” 

“You won't need the evergreen,” de- 
clared Mrs. Trumbull. “I don't believe 
your father knows about this picture. It 
will be almost like seeing her again.” 

A week before Christmas, Mr. Church- 
ill came down one evening with an invita- 
tion for them both to spend that day with 
him at “The Towers.” But Elizabeth 
shook her head. 

“No, Daddy,” she said breathlessly. 
“You must come down here on that day.” 

“But I thought — ” 

“Not another word, Daddy,” answered 
Elizabeth, placing her fingers over his 
lips. 

To her relief he did not insist. 

“The chef will never forgive me if I 'm 
328 


DREAMS COME TRUE 


not there for Christmas dinner/’ he 
laughed. 

“You tell the chef that he ’d better spend 
the day with his family,” broke in Mrs. 
Trumbull. “That ’s the place for folks on 
Christmas !” 

“All right,” agreed Mr. Churchill. 

The next six days were busy ones in the 
little house by the lane. Wreaths of holly, 
tied with scarlet ribbons, appeared in 
every window. In the front room, and 
the dining-room, and “Daddy’s room,” as 
she now called the upper front chamber, 
Elizabeth also hung long festoons of 
green and scarlet. She quite exhausted 
two weeks’ allowance in these purchases, 
which Mrs. Trumbull considered extrava- 
gant. 

“Fir'st thing you know, you won’t have 
enough to buy your Christmas dinner,” 
protested the good lady. 

“It is n’t the dinner that ’s going to 
count,” declared Elizabeth, “it ’s having 
3^9 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


the house bright and cheerful and home- 
like and Christmasy.” 

“Maybe you ’re right,” nodded Mrs. 
Trumbull. 

On Christmas morning, it began to 
snow, and this emphasized still more the 
bright colors within. As early as ten 
o’clock, Elizabeth lighted the open fire in 
the front room. 

“I wish I could light the candles, too,” 
she hesitated. 

“Sakes alive, child!” exclaimed Mrs. 
Trumbull, “you don’t need anything more 
than that picture up-stairs. I feel as 
though your mother’s presence were light- 
ing the whole house.” 

“You do?” asked Elizabeth, eagerly. 
“And so do I. But Daddy — ” 

“Don’t you worry about him. I ’ve 
kind of felt all this week he must have 
known that was up there. He ’s been 
more like his old self than I ’ve seen him 
in ten years.” 


330 


DREAMS COME TRUE 


“Oh, I wish the day would hurry to 
one o’clock,” Elizabeth exclaimed impa- 
tiently. 

She went up-stairs to dress, and by the 
time she had finished she had no more 
than time to hurry down and take a look 
at all the good things in the kitchen, 
before there was a knock at the front 
door. She herself opened it to admit her 
father. 

“Merry Christmas, Daddy!” she cried. 

“And to you, my dear,” he answered. 

She took his hat and coat from him and 
hung them up. Then as he stepped to- 
ward the front room, she seized his hand. 

“Come with me, Daddy,” she whis- 
pered. 

In some wonder, he followed her up the 
stairs. Before opening the door, she 
paused and kissed him once again. Then, 
without a word, she led him in. His eyes 
fell at once upon the picture by the bed. 
With something almost like a cry he 
33i 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


crossed to it, seized it, and held it before 
him with a trembling hand. 

“Where — where did you get this?” he 
asked. 

“It was here all the time — waiting for 
you, Daddy,” answered Elizabeth. 

He looked around the room. 

“It seems as though — it seems as 
though she must be here,” he murmured. 

Trembling, half between sobs and laugh- 
ter, Elizabeth waited. There was so 
much she wanted to say that she could n’t 
say! And yet she felt as though the pic- 
ture was saying to him all that was dumb 
on her own lips. 

“She must be here !” he repeated. 

Then he turned to the girl. His tense 
mouth relaxed. He drew his daughter 
into his arms. 

“Why, she is here!” he cried. “Dear 
little Lady of the Lane !” 

“And you, Daddy, won’t you stay here, 
too?” whispered Elizabeth. 

332 



“Why, she is here !” he cried. “Dear little Lady of the Lane.” 





DREAMS COME TRUE 


“Yes,” he answered. “This is the 
place for me — here' in this little house with 
you.” 

From below there was the sound of a 
loud rap on the kitchen door, and a mo- 
ment later they both heard Roy’s voice : 

“Merry Christmas, everybody!” 

“Merry Christmas, Roy!” answered 
Elizabeth. 

“Can you come down a moment?” he 
shouted back. 

Holding her father’s hand, Elizabeth 
led him down into the little sitting-room. 
Roy was carrying in his arm a box as tall 
as he was. 

“From the fellows,” he said as he pre- 
sented it. “To the little Lady of the Lane, 
with a Merry Christmas.” 

With trembling fingers, she undid the 
string, and found seventeen beautiful 
long-stemmed roses. 

“Oh, Roy! How beautiful!” she fal- 

335 


THE LADY OF THE LANE 


tered, her voice breaking, and her eyes 
growing moist. 

But she did n’t have time to say more 
before there was another rap at the door, 
and the expressman presented a box. It 
contained a beautiful tennis racket from 
the Old-Fashioned Girls, with the very 
best wishes for a Merry Christmas. 


THE END 


336 


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